


The Captive

by WritingEmi



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Captivity, Flashbacks, Fluff, Healing, Hurt Dorian Pavus, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Memory Loss, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Rescue, Romance, Slow Burn, Trauma, Varric Tethras Writes, Venatori
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:35:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 70,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24866161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritingEmi/pseuds/WritingEmi
Summary: Before he has the chance to meet the Herald in Redcliffe, Dorian is captured by the Venatori and later rescued by a certain mercenary company employed by the Inquisition. His challenges don't end there.
Relationships: Iron Bull/Dorian Pavus
Comments: 221
Kudos: 395





	1. Rescue

**Author's Note:**

> An old story I have brushed off and started rewriting. Part of the first chapter is also available in my collection of one shots. This will be approximately too many chapters.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian is rescued. Maybe.

Dorian’s eyes were dry and gritty as his eyelids fluttered open. His eyelashes dragged against the dirty, rough blindfold tied tightly over his face, keeping him in perpetual darkness. For long and disorienting seconds, Dorian remained on his back, unable to see anything, and with no idea why he woke up so suddenly. He was tempted to close his eyes again to force himself back to sleep and away from the misery that his existence was narrowed down to, but the noises that reached his ears were far too alarming.

Straining against the coarse bonds that kept his wrists tied in front of him and the chains that shackled his ankles together, Dorian struggled to rise from the wooden bed of the supply wagon he was thrown in. But his body was too weak and tired, too abused and drugged for the movement, and he was resigned to lay there and listen. 

There was the screech of panicked yelling that rang in his ears, along with the high twang of the metallic clash of swords. There was an accompaniment of a rush of magic, the whoosh of fire and crack of lightning that Dorian could both hear and feel, the Fade prickling across his skin in goosebumps. Dorian bit down on the thick rag between his teeth, longing to reach for the Fade and draw it to him, but his magic was stifled by the thick collar around his neck and the bitter taste of magebane across his tongue.

It had to be an ambush, Dorian thought, keeping himself deathly still and silent. His captors would never willingly risk launching an attack so close to their precious cargo. He wondered who could be attacking the Venatori with such force. Not mere bandits, Dorian concluded, as he had heard enough of them cut down by the disciplined cult members.

As the fighting waged on around him and terrified of what the near future might bring him, Dorian allowed himself a brief and quiet fantasy of being saved by mercenaries hired by Maevaris or Felix. Of roguish men cutting down the Venatori in waves, all with the hopes of rescuing Dorian. Of being swept up in the strong arms of a dashing mercenary captain.

_Great, now I’m delusional._

At least there was the stench of burnt flesh and the copper tang of blood to keep him grounded and to dispel his foolish thoughts. Dorian waited through the violence in the supply wagon, listening as the last lingering cries of pain and mercy, in both Common and Tevene, were finally silenced. Then there was the clamor of unfamiliar accents and voices, replacing the ones that Dorian had grown accustomed to during his captivity.

Dorian heart nearly stopped when he heard the scrape of crates and barrels being moved in a nearby cart. A new deep dread filled his body. There was a canvas stretched over the wagon that kept him hidden for the moment, but he knew it wouldn’t be long before he was discovered and at the mercy of whomever attacked the caravan.

“Looks like Sister Nightingale’s information was correct, Chief. Several of these carts are filled with elven artifacts and tomes written in ancient Tevene,” an unfamiliar Tevinter voice reported crisply in Common, far too close for Dorian’s liking.

“I’ll have to thank Red for the tip,” a much deeper male voice chuckled, Dorian couldn’t place the accent. “This job was getting boring.”

“Never happy unless you’re hitting something,” the first voice complained, and Dorian could almost hear the accompanying eye roll.

“Hey, you can’t tell me that you were having fun escorting a bunch of farmers through a swamp. Come on, let’s wrap this up and head back to Skyhold, the boss is going to like this.”

There was more rustling nearby, the sound of wood being dragged, and items being tossed about, handled with little care. Dorian could picture a great deal of what was in those carts, priceless and ancient artifacts, amulets of great magical significance, and books that belonged on the shelves of the great libraries in the Imperium. Dorian nearly shuddered at the thought of mercenaries throwing the items around and selling them for a profit.

But Dorian had little time to worry about artifacts and books as he heard footsteps near his wagon. There was a heavy grunt and the stressed creak of wood as someone climbed into the back. Dorian’s jaw began to ache from clenching down on his gag, his teeth worrying the sour fabric in his mouth. While he nearly stopped breathing all together, Dorian was certain that the person in the cart could hear his heart thrumming in his chest.

Something was shoved out of the way, a crate or barrel tumbled out of the wagon with a loud thud. Then there was a sharp and shocked gasp of breath.

“Aw, fuck!” the deep voice from earlier exclaimed in distress, rattling Dorian to his bones. “Krem!” the voice barked. “Go get Stitches! Now!”

The wagon shook as the man crawled forward and Dorian could not stop the tremble in his body. He didn’t know if this moment was his salvation or his doom, if he was to live to see the next day or if he was to be slaughtered at that moment, or worse. Large, rough hands gently cradled his face and soft words were spoken to him, though Dorian was in no state to understand anything that was being said. Those hands then moved to the back of his head, thick fingers fiddled with the knot of his gag before it was suddenly removed, and Dorian felt like he could finally take a real breath of air.

“There, that’s better, right, big guy?” the man crooned in his deep and rumbling voice, much softer than it was before. “Now let’s get that blindfold off.”

Those fingers moved upward and pulled the blindfold over Dorian’s head, tugging on his ears and pulling his hair. Dorian blinked rapidly at the sudden flood of light into his eyes, watering from the sting and realization that he couldn’t remember the last time the Venatori bothered to take it off. But nothing came into focus, just blotches of light that brought him pain.

Blinking rapidly, Dorian’s lips quivered as panic began to grip him. “I can’t see,” he rasped quietly, his voice like sandpaper against soft wood. “I can’t see.”

“Don’t worry, just give your eyes a moment to adjust, big guy.”

A hand petted his hair gently and with a kindness that made Dorian want to sob. The last kind touch Dorian could remember was the tight embrace Felix gave him when they met in secret at the outskirts of Redcliffe countless nights ago, less than a day before the Venatori caught Dorian camping in the hills. For a man who was stricken with the Blight, Felix found the strength to wrap his arms around Dorian and cling to him as if they would never meet again.

Which may very well be the case and the world, and time itself, might be doomed because of it.

That thought did make Dorian cry. A pitiful sob escaped from his lips as hot tears streamed down his useless eyes and a full body shake overtook him. For weeks the Venatori abused and tormented Dorian, neglected and starved him, and while he could not hold back his cries of agony, he did not give the Venatori the satisfaction of his tears. But just a simple touch, a moment of kindness and the memory his friend, made Dorian crumble.

“It’s ok, sweetheart,” the voice said, the hand still petting his hair as the man shifted Dorian so that his head was resting in his lap, pillowed against strong thighs and his tears soaking the fabric of sturdy pants. “Just let it out. No one is going to hurt you again. Our healer is going to fix you up and once you’re better we’re going to help you find your people.”

Dorian stopped fighting his sobs, letting them come out as his mind circled. How much precious time was lost? Did Felix warn the Herald about Alexius’s trap? About the danger lurking in Redcliffe? About the dangerous time magic his former mentor was using?

After what seemed to be an eternity, the tears slowed down and Dorian’s sobs turned to quiet hiccups. Once he calmed down, the opening of a water skin was pressed gently to his dried and cracked lips. Without thinking, Dorian opened his mouth to take long swallows of the offered liquid.

“Easy there, sweetheart, take small sips so you don’t make yourself sick.”

Dorian struggled to obey, but the water was a welcomed relief that soothed his parched throat and filled his empty stomach. The water was tepid with the faint taste of leather, but there was no deathroot mixed into it, no magebane, or other herbs to weaken him. It was the first swallows of water that Dorian didn’t fear since his captivity.

The water skin was slowly taken away and a calloused thumb brushed away a drop of water that rolled from the corner of Dorian’s mouth, smearing the dampness across his cheek before it evaporated against his skin. Strong fingers carefully massaged at his oily scalp and a continuous stream of soft words brought Dorian the only comfort he had known in a long time. He laid there, soaking it in as they waited for the healer.

Long minutes stretched on and Dorian found that his blurred eyesight was coming into focus as promised. 

“I think I can see again,” Dorian whispered, blinking quickly to speed up the process.

“See, I told you it would be ok, sweetheart.”

The blotches of light began to form coherent shapes and colors, giving Dorian his first look at his prison and his rescuer. The first thing Dorian noticed was an excessive amount of grey and the largest set of horns he’d ever seen. It took a while for Dorian’s sluggish brain to comprehend that the scarred and one-eyed face looking down at him was not human.

Dorian acknowledge that the proper emotion at that moment should have been fear, but instead hysteria bubbled up in him. Because short of the world ending, this was probably the single worst possible outcome. 

Dorian was now in the custody of the blighted _Qunari_ of all people.

“Oh,” Dorian slurred, feeling lightheaded and his tongue was suddenly thick in his mouth as laughter involuntarily forced up from his throat, “you’re much larger than my last captor.”

The Qunari warrior blinked in surprise at his statement and Dorian had the dramatic flair to faint.

When Dorian opened his eyes again, he was greeted by canvas stretched out high over his head, darkened by the lack of light behind it, and the soft yellow glow of a lamp somewhere to his left. His back ached terribly, but the surface he was laying on was soft, and the thick blanket draped over his body kept him blissfully warm. Instinctively, Dorian grabbed the edge of the blanket to tuck it further up, and he was amazed to find that his hands were no longer bound.

Painfully lifting his arms up from under his covering, Dorian saw that both of his wrists were wrapped in clean white bandages, the skin peeking out was red and sore, leftover from constant chafing. His palms were also wrapped up and smelled strongly of elfroot, covering weeks old burns from summoning fire without a staff had yet to properly heal. A quick wiggle of his feet confirmed that the chains had also been removed from his ankles. His fingers then traced the delicate flesh of his neck, the heavy collar replaced by smooth bandages and the slick of salve along its edges.

Holding up his hand and reaching into the Fade, Dorian able to summon a small arch of lightning between his fingertips, brightening the tent and nearly bringing tears to his eyes.

Closing his eyes and tucking himself back under the fleece blanket, Dorian felt himself relax for the first time in a long time. He was warm and almost comfortable, his aches and pains were a manageable throb, and his wounds were tender but cared for. Best of all, he could access his magic, giving him back his greatest weapon. Dorian nearly felt safe.

A quick burst of cold air entered the tent and brought Dorian crashing back to reality as the Qunari warrior stepped into the tent along with the chill.

For the first time, Dorian got a good look at his new captor. The Qunari was tall, especially as Dorian laid prone on the ground, and the tips of his horns dragged against the underside of the canvas, in danger of snagging a tear. His bare chest and face were scarred, and his obsidian eyepatch gleamed dangerously in the lamplight. But he didn’t look much like Qunari warriors Dorian had seen in raids, with his lack of vitaar, the lazy stubble on his chin and cheeks, and his offensively striped green pants.

The warrior knelt next to Dorian’s bedroll, a small smile curling on his lips and softening his expression. “Hey, sweetheart,” he greeted softly, “good to see that you’re awake.”

Unlike the first time he saw the Qunari, Dorian managed to keep himself under control and kept his body still except to tip his head away from the Qunari. Dorian knew he was in no state to fight the warrior even with his magic, so he opted to merely look away and to stare at the lamp sitting on the ground near him. 

Out of his line of sight, a hand rested on Dorian’s chest, its weight pressing upon him through the layers of the blanket and his clothes. Dorian froze, on edge as he braced for violence upon his body. He was soon left in shock though over the fact that the touch was meant to soothe rather than hurt. 

“You’re safe now,” the Qunari reassured, his voice low and kind, “we killed all of those Venatori assholes.”

Dorian swallowed. Despite being captured by the Qunari, he couldn’t help but feel relief at those words.

“The company healer is going to come by soon and check on your wounds, he’ll give you something for the pain and bring you some dinner.” Fingers gently smoothed away the locks of hair on Dorian’s forehead, causing him to nearly shiver in pleasure. “Is there somewhere we can take you, big guy? Back home? To your family?”

There it was, a gentle attempt at an extraction of information. Where did Dorian come from, who were his people? But with the memory of beatings from the Venatori still fresh in his mind, the jolt of lightning or the searing heat of fire scarring his skin, Dorian nearly answered the soft and soothing tone. He managed to keep his tongue still, even as he dreaded what might come from angering his massive captor.

“That’s ok,” the warrior told him, his voice still sweet, “can I at least get your name?”

Dorian clenched his jaw to keep his mouth shut. 

“That’s ok,” his captor repeated gently, “you don’t even know who I am. Let me introduce myself. I’m the Iron Bull, leader of the mercenary company, Bull’s Chargers. We work for the Inquisition.”

Just the mention of the Inquisition shook Dorian to his core. He remembered the urgent need to meet with the Herald, the near desperation to convince the Lady Herald to help him stop Alexius. But those worries and fears were replaced with new immediate ones. The threat of Alexius’s time magic always loomed over Dorian’s head, but the pain of his torture and the concern over when he might get his next meal was selfishly on the forefront in his mind.

Turning his head back towards the Qunari, he received an actual smile from the Iron Bull and Dorian mulled over his words. The chatter Dorian overheard before being discovered as all in Common with no Qunari words or titles thrown about, he had heard a distinct Tevinter accent in the bunch, and the appearance of the Qunari spoke of someone who was in the south for some time. While Dorian did not allow himself to fully believe that this man and his company were truly part of the Inquisition, he could at least reassure himself that he was likely not a prisoner of the Qunari.

Just the captive of some mercenary company he’d never heard of and probably looking to ransom him. It was all too terribly familiar. 

“Not so scary now that you know I’m Inquisition, huh?” the Iron Bull teased. “Can I get your name now?”

A strong part of Dorian wanted to respond to the Iron Bull’s kindness, a pull that was nearly irresistible, but he bit his tongue and remained silent.

“Don’t worry, I’ll earn it,” the Iron Bull said with friendly confidence. “If you’ve got nowhere to go, we’ll take you with us.”

Finally finding his voice, Dorian rasped quietly, “To Haven?”

“Uh, Haven?” the Iron Bull blinked in surprise. “How long have you been in the Venatori’s hands, sweetheart?”


	2. Fever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian is hauled along in another wagon. At least it's an upgrade.

“Haven was destroyed after the Lady Herald sealed with breach with the Templars. There was a sudden attack by a demon magister called the Elder One, his blighted dragon, and the rebel mages. The Lady Herald stayed behind with Seeker Cassandra, Lady Sera, and Ser Solas to buy us time to escape. I didn’t see the battle, but it was epic! I mean, they fought the Grand Enchanter, and there was magic and sword fighting, oh! And a dragon at the end! … Uh, Lady Sera tells it better. Anyway, they were separated from the Her Worship and she was struck down by the Elder One! But then, the Herald appeared at our camp! I wasn’t there, but someone told me that they saw Andraste guiding the Herald back to us.”

The mercenary, a young and eager man, sat next to Dorian and talked without end. Dorian was once again being hauled around in the bed of a wagon, heading to an unknown destination, but he was significantly more comfortable. He was lying upon a couple of bedrolls with a soft pillow under his head and wrapped up in layers of blankets. His wounds ached, some more than others, but he was given elfroot potions and salves to manage the pain, and better yet, his stomach was comfortably full of a lunch of broth and soft bread. There was no canvas overhead, so Dorian could breathe in fresh air and track the sun, figuring that they were heading east.

Dorian didn’t know where they were going, if what the Iron Bull had told him about the Inquisition was true or not, or if he was going to be ransomed to his parents once he uttered his own name. But he did know that he wasn’t being hurt, a healer was treating his injuries, and the mercenary captain seemed keen on being nice to him. After the abuse he suffered from the Venatori, that was more than enough for Dorian for the time being.

His current companion was certainly better company than the Venatori and was waxing such poetry about the Lady Herald that Dorian was now firmly convinced that he was not in the hands of the Qunari. No one so obviously devoted, and smitten, with the Herald could ever be a follower of the Qun. Dorian could hardly believe most of the things that the young man was telling him and, in another time, he might have pointed it out, but he wisely kept quiet.

The Venatori taught Dorian that there was value in keeping his mouth shut. Besides, the young mercenary didn’t need Dorian to respond to keep happily spilling information. 

“The Lady Herald led us to a grand and ancient fortress called Skyhold. I heard she had a vision from the Maker, who told her where to find it. Or Ser Solas got a spirit to tell him, depends on who you ask, but I think it was a vision from the Maker. Anyway, it’s sort of far from civilization and everything is all dusty and covered in cobwebs,” the man admitted sheepishly, hooking his hand behind his neck. “But it’s safe from the demon magister and the Lady Herald will make it a castle worthy of her. She deserves a good fortress, a brave and amazing woman like that needs a good castle. Have you ever seen her? She is the most extraordinary woman.”

The mercenary moved onto how lovely he thought the Lady Herald’s eyes were, but Dorian was too distracted to pay attention and his mind returned to what the mercenary told him. The breach sealed. The Templars saved from corruption. An attack by an evil magister, a blighted dragon, and an army of mages. The Herald struck down only to rise again. The whole story was too fantastic to believe.

But one thing struck Dorian that lent credibility to the tale. The Elder One.

It was a title he heard repeatedly from the Venatori, a god he was told he would soon be kneeling before. A god he would be made to serve. Dorian knew about the Elder One, catching bits of conversations and plans formed on the leader’s behalf. Also, from what Felix told him, in brief stolen moments when he could sneak away, risking everything to provide Dorian with information.

_“My father has surrounded himself with extremists, the Venatori, serving someone called the Elder One. He’s been using the magic you and he were studying before to manipulate time. I don’t know what he plans to use it for, but if these extremists use that magic ... Dorian, you have to help me stop Father and bring him to reason.”_

Dorian took in a deep breath. He worried about Felix and what happened to him. He worried that Alexius was still using the time magic, still putting the whole world at risk. He worried that both were dead.

That last thought made his heart seize. Felix was on borrowed time, he tried to reason, he was already bracing for Felix’s death. But what if Felix had been caught trying to stop the Venatori? The Venatori nearly broke Dorian, who was in perfect health, but Felix already frail. Dorian had to blink back tears and tried not to let his body shake under the blankets.

A warm, damp hand pressed itself against his forehead. The young mercenary frowned at him, marring his attractive features. “Uh, you don’t look very good,” he declared. He popped his head over the edge of the wagon and called, “Hey, Stitches!”

The wagon came to a stop and the healer soon climbed in, shooing the other mercenary out. Another hand touched his face, this one dry and cool.

“You’re a little warm,” Stitches, the aptly nicknamed healer, observed, “and your eyes are glassy. Time for another potion, hm?” He rummaged in the bag slung over his shoulder as the wagon dipped down as someone else climbed in. “I’ve got it, Chief,” Stitches said, never looking up as he fished out a glass flask filled with a red liquid. “He’s fine, just need to top him off and check that burn on his side. Knives is keeping an eye on him.”

“Tell Knives that I’ll keep him company,” the Iron Bull told the healer. “I need a break from riding, and I’ve got to write a report to Red anyway.”

Cool glass pressed against Dorian’s lips and he willingly parted them to swallow down the bitter healing potion, followed by a long drink of water to wash away the aftertaste. Even though the potion would take time to kick in, Dorian immediately relaxed, knowing that his aches and pains would soon dull. But that relief was fleeting as his entire body tensed once the protective layers of blankets were peeled away from him. While he wore a pair of clean trousers, Dorian was denied a shirt, giving the healer easier access to his more worrisome injuries along his torso. It was practical, but it still made Dorian feel vulnerable.

A large hand cupped his face and a calloused thumb stroked his cheek as the Iron Bull told him, “Stitches just needs to check that burn.”

That was what Dorian was afraid of. It was his newest wound from his now dead captors, a burn on his left side the size of a grown man’s hand, a reward for some unknown offense Dorian caused while half drugged and bound. The burn was hot and painful, even more than the other burns Dorian had received before, and he dreaded having the healer poke around it. Just the previous day, Dorian had nearly passed out when Stitches cleaned the wound.

He gritted his teeth as the bandages were taken off, his eye watering as he squeezed them shut. The salve on the wound did little to prevent the hot agony that shot through Dorian’s body. Bull’s hand found Dorian’s, careful not to press against his injured palm as their fingers laced together. Somewhere out of Dorian’s sight, Stitches sucked in a sharp breath but said nothing as he silently applied more salve to the burn and replaced the bandage.

“I also have to keep an eye on that wyvern scratch that Stumbles got, I need to make sure it doesn’t fester or he’s going to lose his leg for sure,” Stitches told Bull as he gingerly tucked the blankets back around Dorian. “But I’ll ride close. Holler right away if he starts getting feverish again.”

“Got it.”

It took a while for Dorian to settle back down. The throb of his burn kept him too alert, kept his heart thundering in his chest, and his breaths came out in short gasps. The entire time, the Iron Bull sat at his side, using a cool cloth to bathe his face and stroked his hair. 

Finally, the pain faded as the potion did its job and the tension in Dorian’s body slowly began to dissipate. The Iron Bull withdrew his touch and Dorian bit his tongue to prevent himself from protesting. At least Bull kept talking to him, keeping Dorian distracted from more troubling thoughts with the outlandish things he said. Despite not fully trusting the mercenary captain, Dorian couldn’t help liking him.

“Do you think Red will want to know how pretty you are in my report to her?” Bull asked Dorian idly with a book balanced on his knee and quill pen in his hand, its tip hurriedly scratching against the paper as he wrote. “‘Rescued a quiet vint from Venatori assholes, doesn’t want to give his name, so I named him sweetheart. Sweetheart is recovering from his injuries and doesn’t like to talk, but he’s very pretty and no trouble at all.’ I think that’s informative enough, do you have anything to add?” Bull rambled on.

Dorian didn’t say anything but stop a small smile spreading on his lips, stretching a half-healed cut covered in ointment.

“Got you to smile!” the mercenary bragged as he slapped his unoccupied knee and began to scribble something down. “Don’t think I didn’t see that! I’m putting that in my report.”

When he wasn’t telling Dorian about his report to a woman named Red, he told Dorian tales about jobs the company took. Dorian wasn’t sure if he was being told tall tales. Honestly, what village would have the audacity to pay a mercenary called the Iron Ball with rice? But he liked the stories, liked the low rumble of Bull’s voice as it filled his ears. But at some point, as the sun began to sink in the sky, Dorian found it hard to follow the stories as a deep chill began to settle into him even as his face felt flushed.

“Hey, are you doing ok, sweetheart?” Bull paused in the middle of story about demon trees, which convinced Dorian that he was hearing things, and leaned over to get a good look at him.

“I …” Dorian had to clear his throat as he uttered his first word of the day. “No.”

Bull touched his face and his single eye widened, and he shot up, kneeling in the wagon to catch the driver’s attention. “Stop the wagon! Stitches!” the Iron Bull bellowed as the healer rode up.

There was a sudden flurry of activity around him. The blankets were pulled off and tears stung Dorian’s eyes as the bandage was peeled off the burn on his side, his body shaking as the throb of the wound eclipsed everything else. A hand gently grasped his wrist, not Bull’s, a smaller hand and comforting words in a Tevinter accented voice cut through the pain. Dorian blinked up and saw a distinctive Tevene face.

“Felix?” 

Felix had the gall to look surprised and said over Dorian’s head, “Chief, I think he’s hallucinating.”

Ignoring Felix’s strange words, relief flooded Dorian and fat tears began to roll down his cheeks. To see Felix was such a relief that Dorian nearly shook from it. He had feared that while the Venatori appeared convinced that Dorian came to the south on his own, that they actually suspected Felix’s duplicity and Dorian’s capture meant Felix’s execution. Finding Felix’s hand, he clutched it tightly and ignored the pain of old wounds on his palm. 

Dorian began to babble in Tevene, _“I’m sorry I didn’t meet you, they found me like you feared they would. I’m ok, don’t worry, you always worry too much. I’ve been so afraid for you, that they knew you were giving me information and they’d hurt you. But you’re alive, they didn’t hurt you. What of your father? Is he alive?”_

There were other voices, some louder than others, but Dorian couldn’t make out what they were saying. The only thing that mattered to him was that Felix was there and he was safe.

A blissfully cool hand touched his overly warm face and a flask was brought up to his mouth. _“Drink this, you’ll feel better, my friend,”_ Felix told him softly, his words stilted. Then switching to Common, he snapped at someone, “Damnit, Chief, I’m not calling him sweetheart!”

Dorian swallowed down the potion as Felix bid. It tasted different from the usual potions, it was stronger with a concentrated bitterness that coated his mouth and nearly made him gag. Royal elfroot, Dorian managed to place the vaguely familiar taste and was relieved that it wasn’t deathroot. Cold water quickly followed as he began to cough, quenching the thirst the potion left in its wake and Dorian greedily drank it down. The potion’s effects were quicker, alleviating the pain and making Dorian drowsy.

 _“I’m sorry,”_ Dorian apologized to Felix, his eyelids feeling heavy.

_“Don’t be. Just rest.”_

_“All I wanted was to see you one last time,”_ Dorian murmured before closing his eyes.

Opening his eyes again, Dorian noticed he was no longer in the wagon and was under the protective cover of a tent. His head was resting on the Iron Bull’s leg as thick fingers massaged his scalp and relieving the raging headache that greeted Dorian. He didn’t say a word as he woke up, but Bull noticed immediately, drawing his attention away from the book he was writing in. 

“Stitches says you’ve got an infection,” Bull told him in whisper, his thumb rubbing circles against Dorian’s temple. “He’s upping your medicine. It’ll help you rest and heal.”

Dorian gave a slight nod to show his understanding. There was a frustration in knowing that he was painfully close to freedom, though a festering wound might kill him before he got there. But it would seem to be a fitting end to Dorian’s bumbling attempt to do some good in the world.

“Now that you’re awake, how about I wash your hair?” the Iron Bull asked, dislodging Dorian from his darker thoughts. “I’d help give you a full bath, but Stitches doesn’t want me getting your bandages wet. Though I bet you’d like to feel a little clean, huh?”

The offer sounded divine, Dorian could almost feel the greasiness of his scalp and he could certainly smell the dried sweat and blood matted in it. The healer had washed his body carefully after he was found, but the fever had caused him to perspire, undoing the small sense of cleanliness Dorian had obtained. He craved good hygiene nearly as much as he had craved decent food and clean water.

Dorian nodded his consent against Bull’s leg and the mercenary beamed at him.

“Great, let me get things ready.”

Bull put aside his writing materials and gently moved Dorian’s head to a pillow before getting up and fetching some supplies. He came back with a basin of warm water, a pitcher, soap, and a few flannel towels. The mercenary arranged a pillow so that Dorian could comfortably prop his neck on the edge of the basin, letting his head hang over the warm wisps of steam coming up from the water, and placed a small folded towel on Dorian’s forehead to keep beads of water and soap out of his face.

Bull rinsed his hair with water from the pitcher and lathered a vanilla scented soap in his dirty strands of hair, skillfully worked through knots and mats without a single tug as he chatted idly about a man named Krem. The water running over his head was heavenly, making Dorian feel normal for a blissful second. If he closed his eyes, Dorian could almost pretend that he was home in a marble bath, washing his own hair. 

A lump formed in Dorian’s throat as Bull worked. A great big mercenary with only one eye should not have been half as gentle, but Bull had a delicate and kind touch, and was more than willing to help. It wasn’t lost upon Dorian that almost no one else in his life would’ve done such a task. 

“There, that’s better,” the Iron Bull declared with a final rinse, getting out the last bit of soap. Moving the basin away, Bull put Dorian’s head back into his lap and carefully patting his hair with the soft flannel towel. “You’ve got very pretty hair, I bet it’s going to wave nicely once it dries.”

“Thank you,” Dorian murmured, for both the compliment and for Bull’s kindness. 

“You’re welcome, sweetheart,” Bull replied graciously, a little grin on his face.

What Bull had done was more than generous, but it also reminded Dorian of how powerless he was. His injured and fevered body was useless, unable to perform the most intimate of tasks. Instead, he was reliant upon a near stranger who might turn on him at a moment’s notice. A mercenary who might find out how much Dorian was worth to his family. With his body failing him so completely and uncertain as to what his future held, Dorian found himself fearful of the position he was in. 

Without thinking, Dorian begged, “Please don’t ransom me to my father.”

The Iron Bull took in a sharp, swift breath before promising in a soft, sad sigh, “Aw, sweetheart, I wouldn’t ransom you to anyone, not for any amount of gold.” 

Utterly exhausted, Dorian closed his wet eyes and desperately wanted to trust him.

He woke up again, but this time the sun bright and warming his face, the ever-present rattle of wheels on the uneven road ringing in his ears, and the Iron Bull sitting next to him. Bull was busy wetting his chapped lips with water and changing the warm damp cloth on his forehead with a fresh cold one. A small shiver ran through Dorian, but the cold cloth was blissful against his heated skin.

Looking around, Dorian didn’t see Felix and his heart stopped. _“Please, where is Felix? Is he hurt? Is he sick?”_ Dorian pleaded, his mouth automatically falling into Tevene again with its fanciful words sounding wretched in his weak rasp.

Bull frowned and wiped away the tear that escaped from the corner of Dorian’s eye. “Don’t worry, he’s ok,” the mercenary captain answered him in Common. “Just sleep, sweetheart.”

Dorian let his eyelids shut, meaning to only rest his tired eyes, but when he opened them again, there were clouds overhead. There was a moment disorientation as he blinked up at the sky above him, unsettled that he didn’t know if it was the same day or not. The wagon was stopped, and Bull had a bowl of broth ready.

“Felix?” Dorian asked, his throat feeling dry and his mouth tacky, tasting like the leftover dregs of an elfroot potion. He couldn’t remember drinking one recently.

“I’ll get him,” Bull promised sweetly, “but you have to eat your breakfast first.”

He managed half a dozen spoons of chicken broth before turning his head away and drifting off again. When he came to, Dorian was glad to see that Bull kept his promise. 

Felix was there, sitting on the ground next to where Dorian was laying, just close enough to touch if Dorian’s arms didn’t feel like lead. They were in a tent with the Iron Bull, bathed in the yellow flame of the lamp as rain pummeled the canvas in a steady drum. Felix and Bull were talking, their voices low and unhurried, and Felix seemed to be warily admonishing Bull.

Dorian stared at the young Tevinter man and blinked hard. He was pretty sure it was Felix.

“You can’t keep collecting strays, Chief.”

“Who says I can’t?” Bull laughed, a deep and sad sound. “Besides, you guys are all I have left now, so I’ve got to keep collecting.” His head turned and his expression brightened as he noticed Dorian looking up at him. “Hey, look who’s awake! Ready for dinner?”

Dorian nodded against the pillow and his lips stretching into a smile as Bull petted his head, blunt nails scratching carefully at the top of his head. Dorian’s toes curled. Despite agreeing to dinner and his wish to soak up the little affection he was receiving, Dorian’s eyes felt overly dry, nearly hurting, and they didn’t remain open for long. 

Dorian didn’t remember much after that. Consciousness came in and out like waves, suddenly coming in and then drawing away just as quickly. He was just left with vague impressions of the wagon jostling along the road, the sun on his skin, and Bull sitting at his side. Whether they were on the road or camped for the night, the large mercenary captain was always dutifully dabbing Dorian’s face with a cool damp cloth, wetting his lips, and gently cajoling him to sip on broth or water.

Finally, he woke up one morning with clarity in his mind and the sharpness of awareness, no longer pulled down by the fogginess of fever.

Blinking his dry and crusty eyes, it took Dorian several seconds to realize that he was staring up at a proper roof with dusty wooden beams stretched overhead and solid stonewalls surrounding him. The last time he was in a proper building was when he met with Felix in the abandoned Chantry in Redcliffe, whispering the hollow sanctuary and plotting the best way to persuade the Herald to help them.

He didn’t know where he was, but he was tucked into bed with his bandages and clothes changed, and in a clean, warm room. It nearly felt like safety.

Stitches, the healer, appeared and hovered at the bedside. The man’s face eased with relief with a weary smile on his lips. “You look clear eyed for once.”

Dorian managed a nod.

“It was touch and go for a bit, but you should be out of the woods now. Your fever broke last night and the infection that settled in your burn has cleared up. We’ll keep an eye on it, but it shouldn’t bother you like that anymore.”

“Thank you.” Dorian’s voice cracked embarrassingly from disuse.

Stitches’s smile widened. “You’re welcome.” 

After giving him more medicine and water, the healer left with the promise of returning soon and left Dorian completely unsupervised for the first time since he was captured in the countryside outside of Redcliffe. After staying huddled in bed for over a quarter of an hour, Dorian finally got up. Standing on shaky legs and steadying himself against the wall, Dorian slowly and painfully made his way to the only door in the room. His legs burned and quaked as if they had forgotten how to bear his weight, but they got him to his destination. 

His hand gripped the doorknob for several minutes as his mind raced, remembering the beatings he received from the Venatori for his insolence. But he wasn’t in the Venatori’s custody anymore and whoever had him, whether it was the Inquisition or the mercenary company, they had to be more humane. The Iron Bull had shown him that much. 

Preparing himself for the worst, Dorian opened the door. He was not disappointed.

A fresh-looking southern Templar was on the other side, sitting in a chair near the door with a copy of _The Tale of the Champion_ in her hand. Her blond hair was pulled out of her face in a tight bun, revealing young features. She looked even younger as she sat in her bulky armor, causing it to awkwardly ride up and her tanned face almost swamped by the broad shoulder guards hitched up to her ears. 

But that youth and freshness melted away as her head snapped up from her book at the sound of the door opening. She stood from her chair and she was taller than Dorian expected from her posture in the seat. The illusion of a young recruit in ill fitted armor was gone and in front of Dorian was a southern Templar with an armored hand resting on the hilt of a short sword at her hip.

Her dark eyes narrowed at Dorian as she demanded in a sharp bark, “What are you doing?”

“Just wanted some fresh air,” Dorian answered quickly as sweat began to bead on the back of his neck with his legs weak under him and his hand gripping the doorknob to hide the tremble in his digits.

“The window opens,” the Templar snapped. “You are not to take a step out of that room unless you have an escort. Do you understand, _vint_?”

Dread and understanding filled Dorian as he took in a long silent breath and nodded weakly. “Right.”

Closing the door, Dorian dragged himself back to bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize that Dorian sick/injured on the road is now a theme for me ... oh well :) Hope you all enjoyed this chapter and have a nice holiday weekend!


	3. Visit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian receives visitors. He's also not at a Circle, despite the Templar.

“Did you bring me to a Circle?”

The door had just barely shut behind the healer and he opened his mouth to say good morning before Dorian interrupted him with the question that had plagued him the night before. Stitches seemed frozen in place, a tray with Dorian’s breakfast in his hands, and his eyes wide and his face twisted in horror. After a few seconds of shock, Stitches snapped out of it. 

“What!? Maker’s breath, no!”

Dorian let out a silent breath at the healer’s visceral disgust. At this point, there could be no need to conceal the truth from Dorian if he was indeed in a southern Circle and he found that he did trust Stitches. The man worked hard to keep Dorian alive and for that he won some trust on Dorian’s part.

Putting down the tray on the nightstand with a clatter, Stitches slumped into the chair next to the bed, looking as confused as Dorian felt.

“I didn’t work to save your life and heal your injuries just to let Templars undo it all or worse!” The healer sounded almost offended before he added reassuringly, “You’re at Skyhold, with the Inquisition. Maker, I don’t even know if there are any Circles left. Why would you even think that?”

“Well, there is a Templar at the door,” Dorian let out a little laugh of both relief and hysteria.

Stitches frowned and let out a long sigh. “Whatever is left of the Order joined the Inquisition. They insisted someone be posted at your room and the Commander agreed. The lady who’s there during the day is pretty rigid, but ok, just avoid the guy on the nightshift.”

Dorian found himself nodding and digesting the information. What Stitches said lined up with the stories the young mercenary told him earlier about the Templars and the Inquisition. It was far better than being in a southern Circle, but if the Templars really were aligned with the Inquisition, that did not bode well for Dorian.

“You’re safe with the Inquisition, so don’t stress yourself out like that or you’ll never regain your strength,” Stitches advised gently. “Now, let me take a look at those wounds.”

There was thankfully nothing of note as Stitches did his checkup, changing dressings, applying more salves, and without needing to be asked, helped Dorian wash and change into fresh clothes. He chatted with Dorian as he took his breakfast of porridge with a little honey, black tea, and crackers on the side, telling Dorian about work the Chargers were doing for the Inquisition. And when Stitches wasn’t looking, Dorian palmed the crackers and hid them under the covers to stash away later.

“I want you to eat as much as you can, it’ll help the potions work better,” the healer lectured as Dorian began to slow down. “I’m going to tell the Chief if you don’t make an effort.”

Dorian almost refused to eat for the possibility of seeing the Iron Bull, but he thought better of it and tried to finish the bland porridge. After being starved and denied food, he tried to eat everything, but Dorian’s stomach was unaccustomed to regular meals and he had to leave food in the bowl. Still, Stitches seemed satisfied and the healer left with the promise of coming back later to check up on him.

Once he was left alone, Dorian wrapped his crackers in a clean handkerchief and hid it in the nightstand. Then he reclined in the bed, letting his stomach settle from breakfast and resting his eyes before sliding into the sweet embrace of a nap. Waking up a couple hours later and refreshed, Dorian decided to thoroughly investigate his surroundings. 

The room the Inquisition kept him in was small, but clean and warm. He had access to a large wooden wash basin with a plain cake of soap and a washcloth, more Tethras novels than he could ever want to read, a small fireplace and a bundle of wood, and a soft bed with thick blankets. There was a tiny table and chairs with a pitcher of water and a glass, a short chest of drawers next to a wardrobe, and a small writing desk under the only window.

The clothes hanging in the wardrobe were less than exciting, consisting of dark trousers, bland off-white tunics, and a single grey cloak. But they were properly laundered and in better condition than his tattered robes and trousers, which were folded neatly at the bottom of the wardrobe.

He picked up the robes, the last little bit of property he owned in the world. They were washed and the stink of blood, sweat, and bile that had clung to the fabric was gone, but the stains lingered. The white silk was hardly recognizable in both sight and texture, most of the metal fastenings were missing, the leather was worn thin, and there were so many tears and holes it was a wonder that garment held together at all. Dorian was wearing those robes when he was ambushed by the Venatori and was still wearing them when the Iron Bull rescued him.

He let them drop back to the bottom of the wardrobe and continued his investigation.

Dorian found a pair of comfortable slippers by the bed, lined with fur and made with supple leather, which kept his toes warm when he put them on. But the soles were thin, and Dorian was sure that he could feel every uneven surface and crack in the stone floor through them. There was no other footwear that he could find.

He approached the only window, which despite what the Templar said, barely opened. It took some effort on Dorian’s part to open the window an inch, bringing in a puff of cool fresh air. Dorian then went through the desk’s drawers, examining every nook and cranny and found nothing but dust. He searched the short chest of drawers and found fresh smalls, socks and handkerchiefs, along with an extra blanket and a copy of the Chant of Light.

There was a small mirror sitting on the chest of drawers, framed in a bronze stand. He peered into the reflection with caution and recoiled at what he found.

Dorian knew he wouldn’t appear his best, his captivity denied him access to basic things like soap and a comb, but he did not expect for his face to appear so gaunt and pale. Yellowing bruises blotched his skin in sickening hues and a half moon mark under his right eye appeared quite dark. He ran his fingers through the unkept stubble along his jaw and his cheeks and mourned the disarray of his mustache. His hair wasn’t much better, out of control with waves and curls.

He wondered how the Iron Bull could have ever called him pretty.

Sitting back down on the bed and resting his exhausted and aching legs, Dorian was both physically and emotionally shaken. One of his greatest defenses, the appearance of collected cool and power, was cruelly stripped from him. His vulnerabilities were exposed in a way he found hard to accept, much like the betrayal of his broken body.

Drawing his mind away from his appearance, Dorian silently took stock of the things he didn’t have. A proper pair of shoes. Access to a pen, inkwell, and paper. Warm clothing beyond the cloak. A razor for shaving. And unsurprisingly, a staff, though he was thankfully lacking a collar. He was comfortable and wasn’t in immediate harm, but Dorian knew all too well that some cages had gilded bars. 

His pondering of his surroundings was interrupted by a loud and abrupt rap on the door. 

The Templar came barging into the room only half a second after her knock, causing Dorian’s heart to leap into his throat at her unexpected appearance. She sharply announced, “On your feet, mage! The Iron Bull is here to see you!”

Dorian was so shocked and excited by the announcement that he couldn’t obey the Templar’s order even as she glowered at him. The mercenary captain stepped into room, brushing past the Templar and giving her an unimpressed side glance. 

“Yeah, I really don’t need that,” he told her. The Iron Bull stood in the middle of the room, watching the Templar warily as she continued to stand at the door. “You need something?”

“I need to be present for unauthorized visits with the mage,” she countered.

Bull’s single eye narrowed dangerously at her and even Dorian could feel the chill of the captain’s gaze.

The Templar, even in her armor and sword at her side, was not immune. Swallowing and hunching her shoulders a bit, she quickly amended, “You, of course, can handle yourself, ser.”

She slipped out and closed the door firmly behind her, just short of slamming it. Bull frowned furiously in her wake before turning back to Dorian with a softened expression.

“Not exactly the entrance I wanted to make,” Bull teased. “How are you feeling, sweetheart?” He sat down on the edge of the bed with Dorian, not too close, but his large hand rested comfortably on Dorian’s knee, his fingers toying with the fabric of Dorian’s trousers.

His mouth immediately felt dry and his face was overly warm. “Better,” Dorian answered dumbly. 

“You’re looking good,” Bull replied with a little smile. “Stitches didn’t want me interrupting your rest, so don’t tell him I came.”

“I won’t,” Dorian promised. Then, after a moment of hesitation, he added, “My name is Dorian.”

That got him a large toothy smile that Dorian grinned back at. “See, I told you I’d earn your name,” Bull bragged happily, “all I had to do was save your life a couple of times.”

“I seem to recall your healer saving my life the second time,” Dorian countered cheekily, “and he did more work than finding me in a wagon.”

Bull let out a surprised and delighted laugh as he slapped Dorian’s knee softly. “You’re sassier than I thought! I like it.” Letting his laughter fade, Bull’s grin stayed firmly in place as he observed, “You’re chattier too. I think that’s the most you’ve ever said to me.”

“You’ve earned it,” Dorian teased softly.

“I’d think so! And I didn’t just find you in a wagon, I killed a whole bunch of Venatori for you,” Bull boasted as he flexed his arm. 

Something warm and pleasant curled in Dorian’s stomach, and for a minute Dorian felt blissfully normal. The moment was instantly soured as the Templar barged back into the room, not bothering to knock this time. He feared that she was going to force Bull to leave, but instead she announced yet another visitor.

“On your feet!” she barked again even as Dorian remained seated. “The Lefthand of the Divine!”

The Templar stood at attention as a lovely redhaired woman in a hood stepped into the room with servants trailing in after her. In contrast to the severe Templar, the woman gave Dorian a smile, agreeable and warm, showing off white even teeth between painted lips. Dorian suddenly knew who the Iron Bull was writing all those reports to.

A maid scurried into the little room with a tray laden with a tea set, putting it down on the table. Then almost as suddenly as they appeared, the maid and the Templar left the room, leaving Dorian and Bull alone with the official looking woman. 

The woman, however, did not seem to expect Bull to be there, while Bull seemed surprisingly pleased with himself, giving the woman a shit eating grin. She stared at him, her eyes narrowing just the slightest bit and her smile tightened. 

“Bull,” she addressed the mercenary captain.

“Leliana,” the Iron Bull nodded once.

“Lord Pavus,” she addressed Dorian with a much more pleasing expression, “I am Sister Leliana, I am an advisor to the Inquisitor. I apologize for interrupting you, but I had hoped that we might have a chat over some tea.”

Not seeing a point to denying his own name when it was already known, Dorian nodded in confirmation. But hearing his title set his teeth on edge. Dorian could not remember giving his full name out of fear of being ransomed, but he couldn’t recall much after the fever set in. That he might have given his name and title was not beyond the realm of possibilities. 

At least he could finally be reassured that he was amongst the Inquisition. Dorian had done his homework before trying to approach the Inquisition and he knew of Sister Leliana by reputation. He didn’t feel too at ease though, Dorian remembered what the young mercenary told him about the destruction of Haven by the rebel mages and a magister, and the Templar posted outside his door with orders not to leave. Dorian was a Tevinter mage, the son of a magister, intimately connected to the Alexius family, and found amongst the Venatori. None of it could be in his favor and on top of it all, he was in the presence of the Lefthand of the White Divine.

Dorian smiled back at Sister Leliana, the same smile he gave at parties back at home, which was as reflexive to him as throwing up a barrier against a threat. It was all he had, considering his bedraggled appearance, his lack of resources, and the vulnerable position he was in. 

“I would be delighted, Sister.”

Sister Leliana sat down at the table, waiting upon him to join her. His movements were stiff as he made the short walk from the bed to the table, and he could barely withhold the groan of pain as he sank into the chair. 

The china spread out before Dorian was Orlesian, but the tea was distinctly northern and filled Dorian with a sense of nostalgia and longing for his homeland. Despite himself, Dorian felt instantly grateful to Sister Leliana for bringing him a small taste of home.

“I’m afraid we’re short a chair, Bull,” Leliana informed the mercenary captain coolly, her gaze sharp as daggers.

“Not a problem,” Bull replied easily. 

To Dorian’s horror, the Iron Bull walked straight out the door and left Dorian alone with Sister Leliana. But he quickly returned with a small wooden chair in hand that he put down next to Dorian. The seat creaked dangerously as Bull sat down and it was little wonder that the piece of furniture didn’t completely fall apart.

“That Templar you have out there is very obliging, Red,” Bull said casually as Dorian realized he must have taken the Templar’s chair.

“I know it isn’t ideal to have a Templar at your door, but she is there as a formality by orders of the Commander,” Sister Leliana explained to Dorian, ignoring Bull’s comment and managing to sound sorry. “I am interested to learn about your situation, Lord Pavus, as we believe that your life continues to be under threat by the Venatori. Anything that you might have overhead during your imprisonment could prove invaluable to the Inquisition and can help us to ensure your safety.”

Dorian sat as straight as he could without causing himself too much pain and made sure he kept his features pleasant. “I’m sure that we can help each other, Sister Leliana.”

Leliana’s smile widened, “Very good. Now, how do you take your tea, Lord Pavus?”

“With just a splash of milk.”

She fixed Dorian a cup of tea as he requested, before pressing the delicate cup into his hands. Dorian wondered if she did that on purpose, so she could better see the slight shake in his fingers through the ripples of the hot liquid. He tried to convince himself that the tremble was only from the injuries sustained on his palms.

“As I said, Lord Pavus, I am very interested in what you may have heard from the Venatori,” Leliana repeated.

Bull laid his hand on Dorian’s shoulder. “Anything you can tell us will be helpful, sweetheart, but don’t strain yourself.”

This was what he wanted, what he was waiting for, to help the Inquisition in defeating the Venatori. Dorian opened his mouth, but let it click shut as his mind drew a sudden blank.  
_  
Dorian laid quietly, doing his best not to draw any attention from his captors sitting around the campfire as they talked about their activities in Ferelden. While his body was exhausted from his earlier beating, his mind remained sharp, silently gathering information. He hoped to leverage the information to gain the Inquisition’s help in stopping Alexius once he managed to escape._

_“What are you doing?!” A voice barked in his direction and a boot suddenly kicked at his side, stealing the breath from his lungs. “Are you eavesdropping? Do you think that will help you, Pavus?”_

_More blows rained down upon Dorian, the bindings around his limbs kept him immobile and the collar around his neck kept him from his magic. A crackle of lightning ran through his arm as his abuser grasped his arm and dragged him further away from the warmth of the campfire.  
_  
He managed not to wince at the memory, to keep his face neutral as he remembered the punishments that he received for just appearing to listen in.

“I confess that I don’t know what you would want to know,” he croaked.

“They didn’t kill you. Do you know why they kept you alive?” Leliana prompted with ease.  
_  
A staff blade pressed against Dorian’s neck and a boot pressed down on his chest as he laid upon the scorched earth. This was it. He was sloppy, allowed himself to be caught, and had failed Felix, and he was going to pay the highest price for his failure. At least he took down as many cultists as he could, the stench of their blood mixing with the smolder of thick smoke in the night air._

_“Keep Pavus breathing.” The blade remained at his throat. “He might prove to be useful.”_

_“Alexius is hardly any help,” someone snorted, unimpressed. “What makes you think his student would be any better?”_

_A painfully familiar face peered down at Dorian and wide grin spread over handsome features. “He’s got more potential, but he’s weak willed compared to Alexius. He’ll break and then he can be molded.”  
_  
“They barely kept me alive,” Dorian gave a weak laugh before taking a sip of tea to calm himself. The northern blend with a bit of creamy milk did help him relax and made him painfully nostalgic for home. “But I suspect that they most likely wanted to ransom me to my family.”

“We haven’t known the Venatori to negotiate with anyone,” Sister Leliana observed, but let it go despite her dissatisfaction. “Now, why were you in Redcliffe?”

Sister Leliana continued to press and Dorian found himself answering all her questions. He told her about his association with Alexius, the time magic he helped develop, of Felix’s plea for help, the disturbances around Redcliffe, and his and Felix’s plan to get the aid of the Herald and Inquisition. He even marked on a map where his camp in the Hinterlands once stood. 

Everything before his capture was crystal clear in his mind. But he struggled to remember the whispered plans he heard from the Venatori, the gloating jeers his captors hissed at him of their accomplishments, and the mad scramble for ancient artifacts. Those memories were jumbled, blurred together with memories of punishments and the foggy effects of the drugs he was fed. They almost physically hurt to remember.

The entire time, Bull sat at the table, quiet and was seemingly in some sort of competition with Leliana on who could keep the most expressionless face. That changed though once Dorian began to struggle with answering Sister Leliana’s questions.

“That’s enough,” Bull cut into the conversation, bringing a sudden silence to the table.

Sister Leliana kept up her mask and merely stared Bull down. But the mercenary captain didn’t flinch or back down even as Dorian worried that Bull was putting his very employment at risk. What weight could a mercenary have compared to an advisor to the Herald?

“Stitches is firm about making sure Dorian doesn’t get too worn out and he’s told you all he can,” Bull insisted.

Taking advantage of the unexpected break and not willing to let go of the chance to grasp for information he could get, Dorian asked with urgency, “What happened to the temporal disturbances around Redcliffe? Are they still occurring? Do you know what happened to Felix and Alexius?”

“You mean those weird spots where things speed up and slow down? They stopped,” Bull answered. “Things went quiet in Redcliffe Castle after we got the Templars, but we don’t know what happened to Alexius or anyone else at the castle.”

“If Alexius is still out there, he could still be using time magic,” Dorian insisted, both panicked about the potential danger and worried for Felix, who would be amongst the Venatori and without any allies beyond his own father. “He must be found.”

“It’s something we should look into,” Leliana replied, her eyes meeting with Bull’s gaze, a wordless exchange going on between them that Dorian couldn’t read.

“If you do find him, I could help,” he offered to Sister Leliana, trying not to sound as frantic as he felt. “I know Alexius’s methods. I might even be able to bring him to reason peacefully with Felix’s help.”

“We’ll consult you if you are needed, Lord Pavus,” she replied noncommittally, “but we would not want to put you in any further danger.”

Dorian wanted to argue and to insist that he was needed if Alexius was found alive.  
_  
“You always have something smart to say, don’t you, Pavus? Always so disagreeable, aren’t you? Next time I’ll use a needle and thread instead of a gag.”  
_  
He bit his tongue.

With nothing more to say, the interview ended abruptly. The maid came back in and cleared away the tea set, leaving Dorian’s room looking as if the whole civilized interrogation never occurred except for the lingering scent of northern tea in the air. The Lefthand of the White Divine stopped at the door on her way out and turned back to Dorian.

“Is there anything we can do to make you more comfortable at Skyhold, Lord Pavus?” Sister Leliana’s sounded perfectly sincere, but Dorian could not tell if her offer was genuine or a trap.  
_  
“Water. Please.”_

 _The words came out as dry as Dorian’s parched throat. His hunger weakened him, but his thirst was excruciating, making him desperate. But his begging turned into a howl of agony as his plea was met with sharp ice pressed against his raw wounds and wicked laughter._  
  
“No,” Dorian answered quietly, ducking his head. “Thank you, Sister Leliana.” 

After she left, the Iron Bull stayed behind and helped Dorian to his feet, his arm secure under Dorian’s shoulders, and walked him to the bed. 

“Sorry,” Bull apologized as he pulled back the covers of bed and eased Dorian down. “I should have stopped her sooner.”

“It’s ok. I want to help the Inquisition,” Dorian conceded wearily, sliding between the sheets with relief. 

But while he didn’t regret helping, he knew that he revealed all his information on the Venatori and now had nothing to negotiate the terms of his imprisonment. Too exhausted, Dorian didn’t try to secure for himself a pen and paper to write to Maevaris or even for a decent pair of shoes for exchange for information. He also oddly enough didn’t want Bull to see him act in his self-interest, to be seen trying to bargain for his own gain like a conniving magister.

“I know you do, sweetheart,” Bull rumbled with warm approval, leaning down and letting his lips brush against Dorian’s hairline. “You did really good today.”

That at least made it worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a warning, the outline of this story is getting seriously out of hand. I'm sure I can end this in less than 20 chapters ... I hope.


	4. Breakfast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian dines with the Iron Bull and remembers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone is staying safe and healthy! As always, thank you for the kind comments and kudos. I hope you continue to enjoy this :)

“You look tired,” Stitches noted the morning after Dorian’s tea with Sister Leliana, delicately changing the dressings that covered Dorian’s burn. He was seated in a chair as Dorian sat up on the edge of the bed, stripped of his tunic so the healer could take stock of his healing injuries.

Dorian took in a sharp breath, eyes watering like they always did whenever Stitches took care of the tender and troublesome wound. “Didn’t sleep well,” he answered.

“I’m going to put a ban on tea parties,” the healer groused as he applied a fresh poultice. “I can’t imagine spending any time with Sister Leliana is good for your health. The Chief should’ve run it past me before she even stepped foot in here.” The last part was muttered under his breath as if he feared someone might overhear him.

“It wasn’t the worst interrogation I’ve been through,” Dorian’s voice trembled, trying to suppress the shake in his body as Stitches carefully placed a clean bandage onto Dorian’s side. “The tea was a touch over steeped though.”

That got a short bark of a laugh from Stitches. “Over steeped tea or not, I want you well rested or you’re never going to properly heal.”

They fell into a comfortable silence as Stitches finished his work, until Dorian spoke up, his words halting, “A question, if I may.”

“Of course.”

Dorian swallowed. “I noticed recently that I am struggling to recall moments during my time with the Venatori. Of course, there were stretches when I was unconscious or drugged, but I am sure that was not always the case. I should be able to recall more than I do. Is this … lasting? Will my memories always have as many holes as a Fereldan cheese?”

Stitches pressed his lips, then shook his head. “It’s not surprising that you’re struggling to remember things, trauma can mess with your memory and I’m not just speaking about physical abuse. Your current memories are fine though, right? You can remember the last few days ok?”

Dorian nodded in confirmation. “Yes, everything since my fever broke is clear.”

“Then I wouldn’t worry about it,” Stitches reassured him. “Don’t force it, some of the memories will trickle in on their own. Though considering what you’ve been through, I can’t say that will be a good thing.” 

Letting out a tired laugh, Dorian agreed. “True enough. I suppose I should be careful what I wish for.”

“It’ll come in time and we’ll cross that bridge when we get there.” Stitches gave him a wry smile. “Now, I want you to keep off your feet unless absolutely necessary.”

“It is not as if I have any place to go,” Dorian retorted lightly.

“I mean it,” the healer told him in a stern voice. “I’m ordering you to bedrest and no visitors. But it’s not all bad news, I brought you some more books to keep you entertained.”

There was a new stack of Tethras novels sitting menacingly on the nightstand. Dorian was less than enthused about the literature provided to him, but at the very least the books did not require much concentration to read. He thought he might actually have become dumber after reading one of them.

“Thank you,” Dorian said graciously, preferring torture by Tethras novels above torture by the Venatori.

Stitches gave Dorian his medicines, helped him change into clean clothes and left with a promise that a proper breakfast would arrive soon. Dorian picked up one of the books to read, but his moment of relaxation waned as he noticed that his breakfast was running late. It left him uneasy, even as he tried to reassure himself that the maid was merely behind. Despite himself, his mind automatically went to the stash of crackers he had hidden in the nightstand drawer.

A short knock startled Dorian and his chest tightened at the thought that it might be another interrogation. He knew his answers were wanting before and he dreaded what the next step might be to coax his memories along since the civilized route did not yield many results. But it wasn’t Sister Leliana or the Templar at the door, instead it was the young mercenary from Bull’s company, the one who had helpfully supplied Dorian with information about Haven.

Taking a good look at the young human man, Dorian determined that he could not be much older than eighteen or nineteen years old. His sandy hair kept falling into hazel eyes and freckles along his slightly crooked nose did not help him look any more mature. His garb was muted browns and greens, clothing that would make his lanky body disappear easily into the landscape. He was not a bad looking man, Dorian conceded, but far too fresh for his tastes. 

“Lord Pavus!” The mercenary stood at the door, saluting Dorian with his chest puffed out. “The Chief has asked if you would take breakfast with him in his quarters.”

“Oh!” Dorian felt a real smile spread across his face as he promptly ignored Stitches’s earlier orders. “Yes, I would be happy to.”

“Great! I’ll walk you there, Lord Pavus.”

Dorian’s aches and pains were acute so soon after the healer’s visit and the elfroot potions had yet to fully numb his wounds, so his movements getting out of bed were especially slow. The mercenary looked anxious and was quick to find Dorian’s thin-soled slippers and fetched the cloak from the wardrobe, draping it over Dorian’s shoulders. He chivalrously offered his arm to Dorian and while his immediate reaction was to reject it, Dorian knew he wasn’t going to make it far without help. 

Taking the offered arm and finding it firmer than he expected, Dorian asked, “And who might I ask is serving as my escort?”

“Huh?” the young man blinked. “Oh! I’m Riley, Lord Pavus, but the Chief calls me Knives, if you didn’t know, which I guess you wouldn’t.”

“A pleasure, Riley,” Dorian nodded. “Please call me Dorian.”

“Of course, Lord Dorian!”

Dorian hid the roll of his eyes and allowed the young man to lead him out of the room. Stepping outside, it was a shock and relief to see that the cross Templar posted at his door was gone. 

“Did you scare off that Templar at my door?” Dorian teased lightly, though he was looking for more information and hoping that the Templar was gone for good. “While I did not care for her personally, I can say that she was extremely effective as a jailor. She should get top marks for a job well done.”

“What? No! I mean, she wasn’t a jailor, she was just there to keep an eye on you, at the Commander’s order, I think. Oh, that sort sounds like she was … Anyway, the Chief didn’t like her sitting there and thought that it might be good if me and some of other guys traded places with her and the asshole on the nightshift. He didn’t bother you, right?” the young man asked anxiously.

“Thankfully not,” Dorian sighed with relief. “Well, I feel much better with you at my door,” Dorian conceded honestly.

“I’m not like the Templars,” Riley was quick to point out. “It just might be good that you’re not alone, right?” He made a point of looking over the edge of the battlements and into the courtyard.

Dorian followed his lead and peered down. There were an awful lot of Templars meandering around the garden below, and Dorian was suddenly glad that he was wandering alone amongst them. 

“Not a lot of people feel warmly about mages or magisters after Haven,” Riley said quietly. Looking at Dorian, he hastily added, “But I know that you’re not bad, Lord Dorian! The Chief said that you’re in danger because you tried to help the Inquisition, so I’ll be sure that no one bothers you,” he declared passionately.

The news wasn’t good, but Dorian managed a smile, amused by his new guard’s eagerness. While the wind whipped viciously along the empty ramparts, it felt good to have the sun on his face and to breathe in the fresh air after staying indoors. But soon his treacherous legs began to ache and burn, sweat wetted the back of his neck, his feet hurt in their flimsy slippers, and his breaths came out in tired puffs.

“Are you ok, Lord Dorian?” Riley asked quickly, slowing his pace to a stop and his eyes swept Dorian’s form. “You look all pale and sweaty.”

Dorian let out a breathless laugh and steadied himself on the battlement wall. “Charming,” he muttered under his breath, then in a louder voice, declared, “It is nothing, I just need a moment.”

The scrape of footsteps alerted them that they were no longer alone, and a wide set of horns appeared first from a stairwell before the rest of Bull came into sight. The mercenary captain looked oddly romantic in the morning light as he carried a large wicker basket with a checkered cloth covering the top. Bull immediately noticed them, his single eye widening, and his lips pressing into a firm line as he took a few long strides to reach them.

“For fucks sake, Knives! What are you doing?” Bull snapped once he was upon Riley and Dorian. He put down the basket and wrapped his arm around Dorian’s waist, supporting his weight and providing some relief for Dorian’s tired body. 

“Oh, uh, bringing Lord Dorian to your room for breakfast, like you asked,” Riley bit his lip, his eyes wide and panicked.

Bull slapped his own face with his wide palm. “I told you I’d bring up breakfast to his room and you were to ask if he wanted company.”

“That makes a lot more sense!” Riley perked up. “Lord Dorian is obviously not well enough to be out.”

“Don’t be too mad at him, I agreed and he’s much kinder than my last jailor,” Dorian vouched for the young man, trying to sound flippant even as his face flushed as he was pressed up against Bull’s half naked body.

“I didn’t say I was a jailor,” Riley corrected swiftly, his voice cracking loudly.

Bull continued to scowl at the young mercenary. “I’ll take him to my quarters. Bring the basket to my room, then scram.”

Receiving his orders, the mercenary gathered the basket and disappeared around the corner in an instant. The man was surprisingly fast, Dorian observed, figuring out what ‘Knives’ role in the mercenary company was.

“Did you need me to carry you?” Bull asked, his voice low and private even though they were the only ones in sight. “We’re closer to my room, but it’s still a walk.”

Dorian shook his head, but after a few steps with Bull’s help, his legs wobbled dangerously. Planting his palm firmly on the wall of a tower and leaning upon it to remain upright, Dorian’s eyes stung fiercely with frustration. 

A hand pressed against his lower back. “It’s atrophy. I imagine that the Venatori didn’t let you stretch your legs much.”

Dorian let out a short and strangled laugh. “It was only a couple of days after my capture when they permanently shackled my ankles.” He blinked back the tears of pain forming in his eyes as he complained, “This would be easier with a proper pair of shoes.”

“We’ll get you back to fighting strength, don’t worry,” Bull told him, hand rubbing circles on his back. “But it’s not going to happen all at once, sweetheart.”

Dorian dared a look up at Bull and nodded silently his consent. With deliberate caution, Bull slid an arm under his legs and behind his back, and slowly lifted him up. Dorian felt like a child in the Iron Bull’s arms, but Bull was thankfully quick, and they were soon hidden within the confines of an abandoned room. Bull carefully placed Dorian on the large bed and picked up a knocked over chair, bringing it close before sitting down.

Dorian quickly found that the room was not abandoned. He looked around him, the roof was caved in, cobwebs were the main décor, debris covered the floor, and there was even a well-maintained axe buried in the footboard of the bed. But the rumpled sheets and blankets he sat upon were clean, a book and glass of water sat on the side table, weapons were leaning against the wall, and pairs of familiar striped pants were lying in an open trunk.

“Sorry about that. That’s not exactly how I like to get pretty men into my arms,” Bull started, leaning forward with his elbows on his legs and his mouth pulling into a grin. He even made a show in flexing his muscles.

Dorian’s face felt overly warm as he let out a breathy and nervous laugh. It was nice to be flattered, but he knew that it was an empty statement. 

The smile on Bull’s face slid away as he confessed, “I didn’t want to get into this yesterday, you were exhausted enough, but I wanted to let you know that I met your friend.”

Dorian’s heart leapt. “You met Felix? How was he? What did he say?”

“I was with the Inquisitor when she met with Felix. He warned her about the trap his father was planning and said that he had a friend who could have helped her, but that he went missing,” Bull explained. “Felix begged the boss to find you and he gave her a little locket with your portrait in it, he was really worried about you.”

“Oh.” His chest tightened at the thought of Felix’s distress. “I suppose all along you’ve known who I am,” he added uncomfortably.

“I’d never forget a face like that,” Bull grinned before saying softly, “I pretty much figured it out when you kept asking for him. You thought my second was Felix and you kept asking him if he was ok, if he was hurt, even though you were scared and injured.”

Dorian swallowed down the lump in his throat as his eyes began to water.

“Hey, I’ll help you find him, ok?” Bull’s large grey hand engulfed Dorian’s, squeezing it. “He gave the boss his locket, so you can return it to him when we find him. Felix is lucky to have a sweet guy like you.”

“We weren’t … it wasn’t like that,” Dorian shook his head with a small smile and feeling self-conscious, suddenly not wanting Bull to think that he was attached. “I gave it to him as a parting present when he left to study at the University of Orlais, it was a bit of a joke, so he’d have a Tevinter face to look at whilst amongst Orlesians. I’m surprised that he even had it on him.”

“I bet he was carrying it because he misses you just as much as you miss him.”

There was a heaviness to Dorian’s chest that he couldn’t shake, a despair that threatened to engulf him if he continued to think of Felix. Even if Felix wasn’t harmed by the Venatori, he was on borrowed time, and there was something sharp and painful at the thought of the Blight taking him whilst surrounded by the cultists. 

It was kind of Bull to give him comfort and to promise to help Dorian. But Dorian was practical, and he knew that there was little that Bull could do as a mercenary already under contract. Perhaps, if he could secure coin from Maevaris, Dorian would hire Bull and the Chargers to help him recover Felix’s body once they were done working for the Inquisition.

“I believe I was promised breakfast,” Dorian diverted the conversation as his stomach let out a loud rumble.

“I did!” Bull got to his feet, righted a toppled over table, and unpacked the contents of the basket. “Can’t let my guest go hungry, can I?”

There were scones, bread, thick cuts of ham, preserves, butter, honey, a small bottle of milk, a jug of warm tea, and a hefty wedge of cheese. Bull dragged the table over, bringing it close enough for Dorian to reach without straining himself. He then scooted his own chair over, sitting within easy reach of both the food and Dorian.

The breakfast was heartier than the bland porridge that Dorian usually received, and he was happy to have something tastier than chicken broth. His appetite was renewed with great vigor as he generously slathered butter and preserves on a scone and laid a slice of ham on a piece of brown bread. 

Without needing prompting, Bull poured him tea into a teacup of questionable cleanliness and added a splash of milk. The tea itself was lukewarm at best, but it began to steam with a careful application of his magic, heat pulsing gratifyingly through his fingers and palms. Bull watched, his lips lightly pressed together and his eye thoughtful, before holding out his own cup and Dorian cheerfully heated it.

There was a happy civility and comfort to the meal that Dorian hadn’t experienced in a long time, the food was good, and the company was delightful. Bull regaled Dorian with his current exploits with the Herald, though Dorian was not convinced that all of them were true. Why would the Herald of Andraste look for someone’s druffalo?

With his stomach full and the elfroot potions easing his aches, Dorian was quite relaxed. He could not stifle a loud yawn right in the middle of Bull’s story about fighting an Avvar warrior in a ruined castle.

“Have you heard this one before or are you ready for a nap?” Bull chuckled.

“A little tired,” Dorian confessed, “but I am enjoying the company and am not quite ready to return to my room.”

“Didn’t say you needed to.”

Bull grabbed the pillows scattered around and helped Dorian recline into a more comfortable position. Then he sat down next to Dorian on the mattress, sitting up against the headboard. 

“I may have overdone it on breakfast,” Dorian admitted even though he wasn’t able to eat as much as he usually could. Still, he was stuffed, and his settling stomach gurgled embarrassingly loud. “It’s been a while since I’ve had a good meal though.”

“It’s good to see that you’ve got an appetite,” Bull observed with satisfaction. “Stitches is determined to get some fat on you.”

It wasn’t lost upon Dorian that the healer thought it important enough to tell the Iron Bull about Dorian’s recovery and that Bull retained the information. He had to stamp down the smile threatening to spread on his lips.

But Dorian didn’t want to talk about the wasted state of his body and instead playfully stated, “So, you really do work for the Inquisition.”

“I do.” Bull grinned widely.

“And you get paid for rescuing dashing young men?”

Bull laughed. “I do, but I also act as the Inquisitor’s bodyguard when she asks for me and my men regularly run missions for the Inquisition and collect information.”

“I wouldn’t think that joining heretical movements is very profitable.”

“The gold rolls in just the same,” Bull gave him a lopsided smile. “We even get bonuses for bringing in something good. Now, I was just getting to the good part of my story.”

Dorian liked the mercenary. Now that Bull followed through on his promise to bring him to the Inquisition and didn’t ransom him as Dorian had feared, he thought he could trust the Iron Bull. But just because Dorian liked Bull and the mercenary was warm to him, that didn’t mean that he could depend on keeping Bull’s attention. Bull likely already received his paid for the job he and his company were on when they found Dorian, and maybe they even received a bonus for bringing Dorian in, but he knew that now there could be no advantage for Bull to keep visiting him.

A bit of light caught Dorian’s attention, glinting off a splinter of glass stuck in a window frame. It reminded him of the odd glowing skulls in the Hinterlands and the shard pieces that the Venatori were gathering up and whispers about a temple. The memory was sharper, clearer than when he was talking to Sister Leliana, coming loose and in better detail under Bull’s tender care. 

“Did the Inquisition ever find out what those shards were for?” Dorian wondered aloud.

“What?” Bull halted his story about.

“The light in the glass just made me think of those odd glowing skulls in the Hinterlands that lead you to those odd shards,” Dorian explained as Bull’s eye widened. “The Venatori were collecting them.”

“Really?” Bull’s full attention was focused on Dorian. 

Dorian bit the inside of his lip as fragments of a memory came to him, the crackle of a campfire in the Hinterlands, the smell of roasted meat that he never got to taste, and voices talking too loudly.

_“Send Devon to the oasis to setup camp at the temple while the others gather enough shards to get inside.”_

_“We need more Tranquil build more oculara if we’re ever going to find enough of those shards.”_

_A familiar face turned to Dorian, grinning at him as a hand slipped into his hair, almost intimately, before the hand clenched into a fist and pulled at dark locks._

_“Don’t worry, Pavus, we’re not desperate for Tranquil yet.”_

“There’s a temple in the desert, an oasis in the Western Approach, they were going to setup camp there. The shards are the key inside, and they use Tranquil to build those glowing skulls, though I don’t know how.” Dorian struggled to recall exactly what the Venatori had said. “There’s … There’s magic that they wanted, something … not an artifact, but …” 

Dorian trailed off as the recollection broke into pieces, crumbling into the memory of the sudden blow to his side when one of his captors decided to kick at him. 

“I’m sorry,” he shook his head, “I can’t really recall.”

“Hey, no, don’t be sorry, that’s really good, sweetheart,” Bull crooned. 

“Is that the kind of information Sister Leliana would be interested in?” Dorian feigned innocence. 

“Yeah, definitely. Whenever you remember things like that, you let me know, ok?” Bull urged.

“Of course.” 

Dorian smiled, pleased that he could give Bull that piece of information. The enthusiasm in the mercenary’s face was unmistakable and Dorian suddenly knew how to keep the Iron Bull close.


	5. Diplomacy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian receives several unexpected visitors.

There was a certain frustration about having a wealth of knowledge that one could not access. Dorian was finding it particularly vexing, his mind was usually sharp, but it, like everything else, was failing him. He knew that Stitches was right, and he shouldn’t try to force it, but Dorian was beginning to feel anxious.

It was several days since he was able to give Bull information about the shards and the temple in the Western Approach. Bull dutifully visited Dorian every day since then, though Dorian noticed that Bull failed to show up the previous day. Now it was a couple hours past lunch and Dorian feared that he wouldn’t show up again.

The best that Dorian could remember was a fragment, some comment about the corrupted Templars using red lyrium to infect giants. It was so outrageous though that Dorian wasn’t sure if it was true. He began to convince himself it must have come from a bizarre dream induced by magebane and deathroot.

Trying to jog his memory, Dorian got out of bed and sat down at the desk in front of the only window. There was nothing for him to write on or with, but he hoped the setting might help. He was feeling rather useless being in bed all day and reading frivolous books, leaving his mind unchallenged and lethargic. Dorian was beginning to blame Varric Tethras and his novels for the decline in his memory.

With nothing to occupy him, Dorian found himself staring out the open window, watching puffs of clouds float by and trying to figure out what the next tower over might hold.

_“Fasta vass!”_

The curse escaped from Dorian’s lips as a hand suddenly gripped the edge of the windowsill, causing Dorian to jump up and knocking down his chair as he stumbled away. His legs wobbled from underneath him, making him land hard on the edge of the bed as the window was pried open and a skinny and blond female elf filled the window frame.

The elf’s hair was unevenly cut, framing her thin face which was bright with mischief. She was clad in a red over shirt that was splattered with more than a few stains and her plaidweave pants nearly hurt Dorian’s eyes. But quickly he forgot about her outfit and began to focus on the long knife attached to her belt.

“I heard they were keeping a magister up here,” the elf declared, bounding over the desk and landing in the middle of the room in a crouch with an impressive feat of gymnastics. She rose and looked at Dorian, wrinkling her nose. “You don’t look much like a magister.”

“I’m not a magister,” Dorian managed, his eyes never leaving her as she walked around the room.

The elf opened the wardrobe, looking just as disappointed as Dorian felt about its contents. She thumbed through the Tethras novels with boredom. Her grimy hands rummaged through the nightstand. She poked around the bed with disinterest. The entire time, Dorian remained frozen in place as he watched the elf searched his room and cold terror ran through his body.  
_  
“What do you have here, Pavus?”_

_Dorian was lying face first in the ground, his nose pressing against the dirt with his arms and legs bound. Blood filled his mouth and nose, one of his eyes was swollen shut, and his ears were ringing from a blow to his head. But he could clearly hear the Venatori ripping up his camp. His lyrium, spell books and weapons were seized, his letters read, his tent shredded into ribbons, and his clothes burned._

_He was thankful that he had burned all his letters from Felix and Maevaris.  
_  
“Ugh, this was a big waste of time,” the elf complained loudly as she flopped onto her back on the bed close to Dorian, staring up at the ceiling. “You don’t have anything scary or interesting.” 

“I’m sorry?” Dorian blinked. 

“Should be,” she snorted. “So, if you’re not a magister, why was there a Templar at your door earlier?”

“I am not a magister, but I am a mage from Tevinter.” That was all the explanation Dorian could find, but considering what happened at Haven, he was surprised that he didn’t immediately end up in the dungeon. 

The elf wrinkled her nose again. “Same thing.”

An argument was on the tip of his tongue and he longed to roll his eyes at her assumption, but Dorian managed to remain silent and kept his face neutral.

“Hey, want a cookie?” 

She withdrew a cookie from a silk pouch on her belt and handed it to Dorian. He couldn’t remember the last time he had cookie, so Dorian happily took the offered treat and eagerly bit into it. His anticipation was sorely disappointed as the cookie was overbaked and salty, drying his mouth immediately. Also, there were raisins in it. But no longer taking food for granted, he finished it.

“You ate the whole thing!” the elf blinked up at him and let out a high-pitched laugh before letting it trail off. “Cookies, ugh, hate ‘em. Wouldn’t give raisins to my worst enemy. So, sorry about, you’re not my worst enemy, even if you are magister. I’ll bring you something better to eat next time.”

It was an odd promise from an odd elf, but Dorian was surprisingly touched by the empty offer.

“Bull likes you, so you’ve got to be ok, can’t really depend on a Templar’s judgement anyway considering what they were up to,” she rambled on. “But I bet Bull’s all soft on you because he got to act all tough and heroic saving you. Huh, soft, more like hard,” she let out another cackle of laughter. “That one, he’s always like, ‘I’m gonna fight all the dragons,’ and then he fusses because your bootlaces are untied.”

Dorian felt almost dizzy from the elf’s inane chatter, hardly able to keep up with her, but he did latch onto one thing. “You know the Iron Bull?”

She blew a raspberry at him as she rolled her pale eyes. “Everyone knows Bull, hard not to, especially if they’re pretty. Heh, hard.”

Dorian looked away as his throat tightened. 

“What? You’re jealous?” The elf caught on quickly. “Don’t be, Bull gets around to everyone.”

That did little to ease the heavy disappointment that settled in Dorian’s chest. He immediately chastised himself for the feeling, knowing that he had no right be upset about Bull’s relationships.

“Hey, don’t give me that face! It doesn’t mean Bull—” 

Thankfully, the elf was interrupted by Riley’s familiar knock upon the door, giving Dorian hope that Bull had come to visit. After Dorian beckoned him to come in, Riley stepped inside and announced his guest, who was decidedly not the Iron Bull.

“Ambassador Josephine Montilyet to see you, Lord Dorian!” 

An Antivan woman in a gold and purple silk dress entered the room. Her lovely face instantly soured, leaving Dorian wondering why she came to see him if only to scowl at him. But he quickly realized that her displeasure was fixed upon the elf as she pointed a menacing finger and let out an accusing exclamation of, “You!”

“Oh, shit!” 

The elf scrambled to her feet and with incredible agility, she launched herself on the desk in a single leap before disappearing through the window. The whole scene was so bizarre that Dorian didn’t know what to think or feel other than a deep and unsettling confusion. The Ambassador herself looked unsettled with a mixture of shock and embarrassment replacing her earlier anger.

“I am so sorry, Lord Pavus,” Ambassador Montilyet hastily apologized with breathless mortification coloring her words. “That was not at all the first impression I wanted to make. I must also apologize for Sera. She can be quite the nuisance for our highborn guests … and for me.”

“I … uh,” Dorian opened his mouth, but didn’t know what to even say. He started to stand to at least give the lady a bow, but she motioned for him to remain seated.

Drawing a chair close, Lady Montilyet sat down and took a second to take a few breaths as her hands busied themselves with smoothing the fabric of her dress. 

“Well, as I said, that was not at all the impression I wanted to make,” she repeated with an uneven laugh. But just a few seconds later, her emotions were sealed behind a pleasant and neutral mask befitting of a woman of her station and appointment. “Allow me to officially, and belatedly, welcome you to Skyhold, Lord Pavus. I am Josephine Montilyet, ambassador to the Inquisition and advisor to the Inquisitor.”

“A pleasure, Lady Montilyet.”

“I apologize for not visiting you sooner, I have only just returned from Val Royeaux on business and was informed of your situation.”

Dorian smiled blandly. “Sister Leliana was able to greet me in your stead.”

The Ambassador hardly even blinked, but her eyebrow twitched involuntarily. “Sister Leliana is usually not the one to receive our distinguished guests. But Sister Leliana said that she had a productive conversation with you and that you were able to provide her with some good information. We are grateful for your assistance.”

Dorian found himself thankful for the veneer of civility that the Ambassador brought and knew that he could navigate the discussion better. He was still conscious of his appearance, but he thought that he was on a better footing with Lady Montilyet. 

With sincerity, he replied, “I am glad to be of help.”

“And we hope that you can continue to be of help,” Lady Montilyet urged gently. “The information you gave to the Iron Bull was quite useful for our operations in the Western Approach.” 

Dorian was gratified that Bull was being recognized by the Ambassador. He hoped Bull was compensated for the information but was not so crass to ask. 

“I’ll try to keep the Inquisition informed as I can during my stay at Skyhold,” Dorian said, “though my memory is …” he trailed off, self-conscious of his deficiencies.

“I completely understand, Lord Pavus,” the Ambassador was quick to reassure with honest sympathy. “I read the reports that the Iron Bull and Sister Leliana provided about your circumstances, but I still can’t imagine what you went through.” Her expression shifted, more cautious, though still sympathetic as she said, “I can imagine that you are eager to return home after your ordeal, however we believe that sending you back to Tevinter will put you in considerable danger of being recaptured or assassinated by the Venatori. If you still wish to return to Tevinter, we can only provide you with a small escort to the border, but if you remain at Skyhold, we can ensure your safety.”

Dorian heard the message loud and clear, though it didn’t matter in the long run. “Before I was captured by the Venatori, not only was I seeking help from the Inquisition to deal with Alexius, but I wanted to offer my services to your cause. Given my circumstances, I feel even more passionately to help the Inquisition. The Venatori and their Elder One must be stopped.”

The Ambassador beamed at his response. “Excellent, I am glad we are of the same mind, Lord Pavus. Now, I would like to write to your family to inform them of your recovery from the Venatori and to reassure them of your safety.”

“My family and I are not on the best terms,” he told her frankly. “They likely did not notice that I was captured by the Venatori and I am afraid that they would likely not pay anything or provide any support to the Inquisition.”

“Oh, I did not mean to imply—”

Seeing his opening, Dorian interjected, “But my friend, Maevaris Tilani, was keeping track of my movements in the south and she will be grateful to know that I am alive.”

“And she is a magister?” Lady Montilyet asked.

“She is,” Dorian confirmed, “but if you would like a recommendation of her character, she is the widow of Thorold Tethras, the cousin of the dwarven author, Varric Tethras.” 

Dorian relished the surprise on Lady Montilyet’s face at that statement. Nobody ever expected a Tevinter magister to be related to the dwarven author, but the connection spoke to Maevaris’s unorthodox character and her heart. In Tevinter, the news was often met with disgust, but now, the Lady Ambassador appeared delighted.

“I suspect that she would be willing to share information and resources with the Inquisition, should I ask. She has a particular disdain for the Venatori.”

“Truly?” the Lady Ambassador asked excitedly. “It would be beneficial for the Inquisition to have an ally in Tevinter, especially a magister.”

“I will be happy to write to Maevaris and introduce you to her at once, all I need are some writing materials,” Dorian suggested carefully with hope and anticipation building in his chest.

“Yes, of course,” Lady Montilyet readily agreed as triumph blossomed within Dorian. “I’ll have them brought to you as soon as possible. But I would still like to be able to write to your family,” she insisted. “Even if you are not in contact with your parents, I think it would be a nice gesture to let them know that you are safely with the Inquisition.”

In Tevinter, such a letter to his family would imply that Dorian was a hostage. He didn’t ask though, knowing that he’d get denials about being a prisoner either way. Before Dorian could object again to writing to his parents, the door swung open and Bull came barging in unannounced with a package wrapped in brown paper under his arm. 

“Oh! Bull!” The Ambassador nearly squeaked as the mercenary strode into the middle of their conversation.

“Hey, Josephine, just came by to drop something off for Dorian.” 

Bull breezed through the room and laid the package on the table. Instead of leaving though, he dropped down onto the bed next to Dorian and rested his hand on the small of Dorian’s back.

“Well, perhaps you can help me, Bull, and convince Lord Pavus to allow me to write to his parents,” Lady Montilyet entreated.

“No,” Bull answered immediately and sharply. Lady Montilyet startled at his response, Dorian nearly did himself, but Bull was kinder as he added, “If Dorian doesn’t want to contact his family then that’s the end of it.”

“Oh, of course, I understand,” the Ambassador nodded slowly. She rose, preparing to leave, and gave Dorian a polite curtsey. “Lord Pavus, thank you for your time. I’ll have one of my assistants bring you some writing materials soon, I am eager to be in contact with your friend. Please let me know if there is anything that I can do for you.”

“Of course, Lady Montilyet, it was a pleasure,” Dorian said sincerely.

Once the Ambassador left, Bull let out wry laugh. “That was Leliana’s doing.”

“Pardon?”

“I imagine that Leliana wasn’t happy with me crashing her talk with you, so she was extra sneaky about arranging Josephine’s visit. Knives ran to me after he let Josephine in,” Bull explained, “so I got here as soon as I could. I didn’t want to leave you alone with her just in case.”

“I think we actually had a very productive chat,” Dorian replied honestly before finally noticing a white bandage plastered to Bull’s shoulder. “You’re hurt! What happened?”

Dorian automatically reached out to touch it but caught himself just short of the dressing. His hand hovered there for a second before Bull grabbed it, squeezing Dorian’s hand with a half-smile.

“Training accident,” Bull answered smoothly.

“I’d hate to see the other guy,” Dorian murmured, aware that Bull had yet to let go.

Bull gave him a predatory grin. “I threw him over a wall.”

Dorian decided he wasn’t going to ask and changed the topic. “I believe you said you had something for me. Or was that a ruse to barrel into the room?”

The mercenary looked quite pleased with himself as he retrieved the package and placed it in Dorian’s lap. “I had something made for you.” 

Tearing away the paper, Dorian was overjoyed to find a proper pair of boots in his hands. They were made of white snoufleur leather and lined with soft fleece. Better yet, the soles were sturdy, and Dorian was sure he’d no longer feel every crack on the walkways. They were not necessarily of Dorian’s usual taste, but he had never been so happy to receive shoes.

“You complained about your footwear before,” Bull said casually. “Maybe with a good pair of boots we can take short walks and strengthen up your legs.”

“This is …” Dorian found himself speechless at Bull’s sheer generosity. Finding his voice, Dorian thanked him, “This wonderful. Thank you, Bull, I hardly know what to say.” 

On impulse, he leaned in to kiss Bull’s cheek. Bull shifted at the last second and his lips landed on the corner of the mercenary’s mouth, catching a bit of Bull’s lips and tasting the light salt of sweat on his skin. Pulling away, Dorian felt rather silly, like a blushing maiden receiving a flower from her beau.

“Not what I was expecting, but I’m not going to object,” Bull said sweetly with a large grin.

Dorian silently acknowledged that Bull was being polite. Especially so given his preference for _pretty_ partners as the strange elf told him. Pushing aside those thoughts, Dorian mumbled another thanks.

“Try them on and we’ll test them outside if you’re feeling up to it.”

He was admittedly tired from his visit with the Ambassador, but Dorian immediately shucked off his slippers and tried on the boots. There was a little extra room in the toes, but otherwise they fit beautifully as he pulled on the laces. As he stood, he was satisfied with the sturdy feel of the shoes.

Bull grabbed his cloak from the wardrobe, draping it over Dorian’s shoulders before offering his arm and Dorian took it without hesitation. They strolled out to the ramparts, the only person in sight was Riley, who was sitting at his post with his book. They hardly went far before Dorian’s legs began to shake and his breath came out in quiet heaves. Bull seemed to notice instantly and stopped.

“Are the boots not working out?” Bull fretted, lines worrying his face into a frown.

“No, they’re perfect. I just overextended myself a bit.”

The frown eased away. “Great, Dagna always does good work. Let’s take a breather, then I’ll get us some dinner.”

Dorian was grateful for the break as they admired the view from the ramparts. Below them was a large valley covered in snow and ice with an orange glow from the setting sun. While view wasn’t quite worth the cold whip of air that cut through Dorian’s clothes, being with Bull was. But even as he was riding high on his new gift and the promise of soon being in contact with Maevaris again, Dorian agonized over the lack of information he had for the Iron Bull. 

“What’s wrong?” Bull asked, his hand warm and heavy on Dorian’s back.

“Nothing really.” Dorian shook his head before admitting, “I think I remembered something, but I can’t really be sure if it’s real or not.”

“Oh? Why don’t you talk it out with me? Maybe it’ll help.”

Dorian nodded, hoping he was not about to humiliate himself, but he was desperate to provide Bull with anything that might be useful.  
_  
The blindfold was back over his eyes, someone didn’t like the way Dorian was glaring. It earned him a swollen right eye and darkness. They were stopped for the night and Dorian was dragged out of the wagon, left on the cold soggy ground and too far from the campfire to feel its warmth. But the voices carried easily to Dorian’s ears._

_“He claims the red lyrium makes the giants easier to control.”_

_“Control a giant? The red lyrium has certainly taken that Templar’s mind. I’m glad we’re not going to the Emprise de Lion.”_

_“Could it make Pavus easier to control?”_

_A burst of laughter rose from the small group as Dorian silently held his breath while his heart pounded in his chest. He had seen and heard enough about red lyrium to be frightened of it. He flexed his hands against his bonds, the instinct to summon his magic was strong, but useless with the heavy collar around his neck._

_“Calpernia needs his mind whole at the Western Approach. If he fails, then we can see what the red lyrium does.”_  
  
“I think I remember the Venatori talking about corrupted Templars using red lyrium to infect giants somewhere in Emprise du Lion.”

His statement was met by a heavy silence. There was no laugh or rebuke from Bull, leaving Dorian sick to his stomach. Dorian stole a glance up at Bull’s face, finding it blank as he stared out at the valley below.

“I told you I wasn’t sure if it was real or not,” Dorian quickly backtracked as he filled the silence, embarrassed he allowed his insecurity to overrule his better judgement. “It’s too outlandish, isn’t it?”

“It really isn’t,” Bull’s voice was deep with resignation and weariness. His fingers curled around Dorian’s waist, pulling him a step closer. “No, this is good information, sweetheart. Even if you think it sounds insane, like you might have gotten it wrong because it seems too weird to be true, you should still tell me, ok?”

Dorian nodded, relief flooding him. “Ok.”

His attention was again drawn to the bandage on Bull’s shoulder. He could easily see Stitches’s skillful handiwork in the wrapping. He laid his hand just below the wound, his fingertips grazing the bottom of the dressing and his palm pressing against Bull’s chest. Bull let out a soft chuckle, covering Dorian’s hand with his own.

“Hey, don’t worry about that. I’m the only who gets to worry,” Bull told him. 

“I wouldn’t worry if you could avoid getting stabbed during training,” Dorian retorted.

Bull rubbed at Dorian’s chilled fingers with a soft smile that transformed the harsh lines and scars on his face. His features appeared warmer than usual, washed in the red and orange of the setting sun.

“Told you that you’re a sweet guy.”

Dorian felt once again secure in Bull’s affections.


	6. Razor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian receives gifts.

_There was a noise in the darkness, waking Dorian from his fitful sleep. The blindfold was tied too tightly around his face, digging into his bruised eye and not giving even the hint whether it was night or day. But he could feel a body lay down next to his own, almost spooning him. A new kind of fear gripped Dorian’s heart and bile burned his throat._

_“Remember when you used to come to me like this?” a voice whispered sweetly into his ear, moist breath tickling the sensitive shell. “You were eager to get onto your knees for me then.”_

_His breathing stopped as a hand slipped under the tatters of his shirt, caressing his side until the hand finally settled on his ribcage. The palm was warm against his skin, a sick illusion of the past and one that Dorian now deeply regretted._

_“But you’re so uncooperative now,” the voice told him with mock regret. “You bring this upon yourself.”_

_The tender touch slowly became warmer. A warmth that quickly accelerated, becoming a searing heat that ate through him. Gone was the darkness, the man lying next to him, the very breath in his lungs. Dorian’s entire world narrowed down to where a hand touched him and the fire it effortlessly channeled._

_Dorian screamed into his gag.  
_  
Dorian jerked awake, his heart pounding as he scrambled to figure out what woke him up. A light sweat had broken out across his face and back, even though the covers were tangled down at his feet. It was still dark with only a sliver of light coming in from the waning moon. The only other light came from the small fire crackling in the hearth, throwing looming shadows around the room. The lagging flames told Dorian that he had been asleep for no more than a few hours.

_“He was always going to hurt you. You couldn’t stop him, even if you broke.”_

Dorian startled and his head whipped around the room, searching for the source of the whisper. A creak at the window alerted Dorian to a visitor as the glass was pried open from the outside. Dorian managed to stand on legs shaking from terror and weakness, a shout was ready in his throat for the night guard, and ice formed in his clenched fist. 

But he quickly recognized the figure that occupied the window frame. It was the elf who snuck into his room days before, apparently wearing the same clothes she had on too. He recalled Lady Montilyet saying her name, but Dorian couldn’t remember it, making him wonder if his faulty memory was to blame or if he was just too shocked by the whole incident to remember properly. 

She grinned before leaping to the ground and holding a bag in her hand. “Good, you’re awake.”

The fear dissipated from Dorian as did his magic, only to be replaced by confusion. “May I help you?” he asked slowly.

The elf didn’t answer him, instead she held up the bag with a large grin. Then she upended the sack and dumped her loot on top of the dresser.

“I brought you things,” the elf declared gleefully.

Dorian inspected the haul, finding an assortment of cosmetics. There was a jar of fragrant hair cream, soaps of different sizes and scents, a couple bottles of shampoo, a sandalwood shaving lather, a variety of lotions, a large jar of mustache wax, and several tins of an unidentified herbal balm. He also found three combs, a pair of scissors, and a straight edge razor.

“Good, right?” the elf bragged. “We’ll get you all cleaned up with this crap.”

He picked up the razor blade, staring at it warily as his hands held it in an unsteady grip. The burns on his palms were mostly healed and Stitches said he wouldn’t lose any mobility in his hands, but for now they were stiff. He wasn’t sure if he’d be able handle the blade without cutting himself, but he was quite determined to get rid of his beard.

The elf plucked the razor from his hand. “Here, I got it.”

Dorian looked at her choppy hair with unease in his stomach. “Do you know how to shave?”

She let out a loud and cackling laugh. “Uh, yeah. I totally know how to shave.” 

Dorian winced at the sound, worry clawing at him that her laughter would carry beyond the confines of the room. His fear was confirmed when the door creaked opened and his current nightshift guard poked his blond head inside. The human man, while one of Bull’s mercenaries, was less talkative and emotive than Riley, making Dorian approach him with caution.

The elf was not impressed at his appearance. “Buzz off, Grim.”

The guard ignored her as his eyes were drawn to the razor in the elf’s hand. He purposefully stepped inside, and his gaze met Dorian’s.

“I’m fine, Grim,” Dorian confirmed. “She’s just helping me shave,” he explained, even though it sounded rather absurd. 

Grim merely grunted in a tone that Dorian had come to think of as affirmative.

“Don’t tell Bull!” The elf called after Grim as he stepped back out. 

The guard just let out another affirmative grunt as the door closed behind him.

The elf turned back to Dorian. “Now, did you want the whole thing off or …”

“Leave the mustache, please.”

He made up the lather, the scent of sandalwood filling the air as he mixed in a little water. Lacking a brush, Dorian used his fingers to spread it over his wild stubble before sitting in a chair and letting the elf come near him with the blade. Dorian had to admit that it was terrifying to have someone so close to him with a weapon after spending countless days with knives and staff blades often shoved at his face or other vital parts. His breath hitched as the edge of the razor touched his skin and he clenched his hands to hide the quiver in his fingers as it smoothly slid down his cheek.

Surprisingly though, his impromptu barber was more comforting than he anticipated. Dorian’s breathing evened out and his hands stopped trembling as he listened to her ridiculous story about how she met the Herald.

“… she figured it all out and met me in the courtyard at night. Romantic, right? But not. She brought Cassandra, Bull and the egghead. Also, there were baddies. Lots of them, but I got the main guy in the face with an arrow, squishy that one. Anyway, I stole the guards’ breeches, so they had to fight with no breeches! We killed them all, because she’s good at that, then we talked, and she glowed. She was pretty confused about everything, but she told me to get my things and meet her Haven. I did, because, you know, Andraste’s herald and she’s got nice tits. There, done! Both with the story and shaving.”

Dorian stared at her with wide eyes as she pulled away, his sheer bafflement overcoming any discomfort he previously felt. 

“Why did you take their trousers? Why didn’t you take their weapons? No, wait, you lured the Herald of Andraste into an ambush in a secluded courtyard? And did you just make a pass at the Herald?”

“Because, no breeches!” The elf made herself laugh again and ignored the rest of Dorian’s questions.

Despite his outrage, a small laugh escaped his lips and he got up to wash his face to hide his mirth. Washing off the bits of lather and hair clinging to his face, Dorian peeked into the mirror. The elf did an admirable job, she didn’t miss a spot and she managed not to nick his skin. Then he turned a more critical eye to his reflection, noting that his cheeks were still thin, and his bruises were sickly yellowed blotches against his paled skin, making him look haggard. But when he fixed his mustache with the wax, Dorian could see a sliver of himself. 

“Come on, I’ll do your hair now.” She held up the scissors almost menacingly.

This time, Dorian was unable to hide his reaction and openly balked.

“Anything I do has got to be better than that,” she countered, her free hand gesturing wildly.

After a moment of hesitation, Dorian reluctantly agreed. “I suppose you’re right. Just … don’t cut off too much. Just a trim, ok? And let me wet my hair first.”

Quickly, Dorian dunked his hair in the wash basin and combed out the tangles. Then he grabbed the mirror, holding it in his lap to try to watch what she was doing. The elf rolled her eyes and started cutting away with more gusto than Dorian was anticipating.

“Hey, what do you think of Qunari? No, never mind, I know what you think, and I don’t want to know. I ran into Bull today, mooning over someone, right? Dagna said he’s been coming to the undercroft, making special requests. Asking for things that don’t fit him. I bet you know what I mean.”

Dorian really didn’t. He didn’t understand anything she was saying, and he didn’t want to know about any of Bull’s paramours. Mercifully, the haircut was over quickly, and Dorian had to admit that she did a fine job with it as well, despite her own hairstyle. While his hair was not nearly as stylish as it used to be, the wild length was gone and appeared a little neater.

Once they were done, Dorian managed to clean up most of the mess, then packed up the items and held them out to the elf. She shook her head. 

“I don’t need that shit. It’s yours.”  
_  
The point of the knife was hardly an inch away from Dorian’s eye. He held his breath, not wanting to accidentally move into the blade or give his captor anymore reason to hurt him. He should’ve known he was going to get caught with the knife, but at the time the risk seemed worth it. Now, Dorian fervently didn’t want to lose one or both of his eyes._

_“You think this was going to help you?” The cultist spat in Dorian’s face, twisting his fine features into an ugly snarl._

_The knife and the cultist withdrew before he snatched Dorian’s arm, dragging him forward as lightning crackled threateningly in his hand._  
  
“I probably shouldn’t be found with sharp, pointy things,” Dorian told her.

She frowned. “Yeah, I get it, but you take the rest. I don’t go putting things _back_.”

“Right,” Dorian nodded with a smile. “Thank you.”

The elf shrugged, tucking the scissors and blade into her belt. She then untied a small silk purse at her hip and tossed it to Dorian. Curious, Dorian undid the drawstrings and found it full of dried fruit, nuts, and jerky.

“The nightstand is a lousy place to hide your food,” she told him. “It’s going to get found. It won’t get you in trouble, but you should do better. There’s a loose board in the bottom of the wardrobe.”

Dorian could feel the blood instantly rush to his cheeks, his eyes automatically shifting to the nightstand where he was hiding crackers from his meals.

“No judgement. Except for your hiding spot,” the elf shrugged. Holding out her hand, she made a grabby motion. “Give it here, I’ll show you where to put it.”

The elf opened the wardrobe doors and made a show of wiggling one of the boards at the bottom. Carefully lifting it, she inspected the space and cinched up the bag tightly before placing it inside. She moved Dorian’s tattered robes over the loose board before shutting the wardrobe up.

“Don’t put anything else in there,” she advised. “Gotta split up your stash.”

“Right,” Dorian nodded like he understood her.

The elf snorted at him before making her way to the window, climbing over the desk with a light step. Crouched on the windowsill, she whipped her head around and gave Dorian a toothy grin. 

“Bull’s gonna be so jealous, I can’t wait to see what he does. I’m going to tell him that I came to see you and—Hey, what’s your name anyway?”

“Dorian.”

“Sera,” she replied with a smirk and chuckle before jumping out the window.

Dorian crawled back into bed, feeling nearly dizzy in his confusion, but he fell into a deep and restorative sleep the moment his head hit the pillow.

Despite his interrupted sleep, Dorian got out of bed early the next morning as the first rays of sun came sneaking in. Gathering up the cosmetics, he selected a lavender scented soap to wash with, careful not to wet his bandages as Stitches instructed him. He thoroughly washed his hair with a jasmine shampoo and lathered himself up with one of the lotions. Looking in the mirror, Dorian wished he had some powder or kohl to distract from the healing bruises on his face. Given that Sera was good enough to bring him toiletries, Dorian wondered if he could ask for a little more. 

Still, he felt surprisingly good. The only thing dampening his mood were the boring clothes waiting for him in the wardrobe. But once he pulled on a clean outfit, Dorian felt refreshed.

Just as he finished preening himself, there was a knock on his door to announce his morning visit with Stitches. But to Dorian’s surprise and happiness, it was the Iron Bull who came to greet him, bringing in a tray with breakfast and elfroot potions.

“Stitches got held up this morning,” Bull explained, “someone strung up all of his smalls last night. I’ve got your breakfast and meds—”

Bull stopped midway into the room, his eye widening as he got a good look at Dorian.

“You’ve shaved.”

Dorian’s stomach unexpectedly flipflopped with nerves and he tried to be his most charming as he asked, “Would you believe me if I told you that a funny blond elf in plaidweave climbed through my window and gave me a shave?”

The Iron Bull stared before slowly nodding his head. 

“Yeah, that checks out.”

They shared breakfast at the table, Bull was also good enough to bring Dorian a hearty meal, rather than the boring nutritional ones Stitches often brought. There was a serving of soft-boiled eggs, spiced sausages, thick slices of brown bread, cheese, and black tea. But throughout the meal, Dorian could feel Bull’s gaze on his face, making him increasingly uncomfortable. There was almost a mournful look to Bull’s single blue eye and the slight bow to his lips, pulling it into a shallow frown.

“I would’ve given you a shave,” Bull said before Dorian could ask what was wrong.

Dorian was flattered by Bull’s desire to be helpful and tried to lighten the mood by quipping, “I recall you washing my hair, so I thought I would share the privilege of grooming me.”

A smile cracked on Bull’s lips. “I’m greedy.”

Rubbing at his smooth jawline, Dorian replied, “I’ll need another one in a couple days.”

That earned him a large and satisfied grin.

“I remembered something rather absurd last night.” Dorian changed the topic as he sliced daintily into a sausage. “It cannot be true, but I have a recollection of the Venatori ordering raiders to capture a dragon in the desert. Crazy, right?”

The statement caught Bull’s attention instantly. Putting down his cup of tea with a loud clank upon the china, Bull entreated, “Tell me everything about this dragon.”

There wasn’t much to tell, but Bull hung on Dorian’s every word as he told him the snippets he could recall. The memory was hazy, and Dorian was sure he was misremembering, but it seemed to intrigue Bull. Any details Dorian could provide about the dragon delighted Bull.

Stitches came in soon after Dorian finished his tale, chasing the Iron Bull away so he could change Dorian’s bandages in privacy. But Dorian was fortunate to receive a second visit in the afternoon, just waking from a nap to Bull’s knock. As he came in, Dorian quickly spotted a lovely dark leather case in his hand.

“For when you’re ready for another shave,” Bull explained, giving him the case. He took Dorian’s free hand, his thumb rubbing circles in his palm. “I’ll be happy to help you for as long as you need it.”

Inside the soft leather case was a beautiful pearl handled razor, a sweet-smelling lather and a fine haired brush, a small pair of silver scissors, and a tin of silky mustache wax. The information on the dragon must have been better than Dorian thought.

Despite being charmed by the gift, Dorian was reluctant to accept it. “Is it ok that I have this?”

“Yeah, of course,” Bull shrugged his wide shoulders. “Why wouldn’t it be?” 

Dorian unconsciously flexed his left arm, from the shoulder to elbow were faded branching scars. He remembered the hand that wrapped around his elbow and the surge of electricity that ran through his limb. He remembered the scream that escaped his mouth and the involuntary jerk of his body. All over a knife barely fit for slicing an apple.

“I’ll keep it in my room for now,” Bull suggested softly. “It’ll be good exercise for your legs, and it’ll get you out of your room more often, right?”

“Right,” Dorian agreed hastily.

While he regretted that he couldn’t keep the kit, he was also relieved that he wouldn’t have a weapon in his possession. But Dorian regretted it in a different way when Bull suddenly excused himself.

“I need to go get something. I’ll be back soon.”

Dorian sat numbly on the bed as the door close behind Bull, knowing a flimsy excuse when he heard one. He silently berated himself for rejecting Bull’s gift. The more Dorian thought about it, he figured that receiving a blade from Bull was different from getting one from a random elf, the risk of punishment was likely less. But it was too late, and the damage was done.

Laying down on top of the covers, Dorian’s chest felt heavy and his head began to hurt. His eyes remained dry, but he bit down on his bottom lip to hide the wobble in it as his mind replayed the situation in an endless loop.

Dorian knew that he needed to provide Bull with something better than half remembered rumors about dragons to make up for the insult.

The door was suddenly thrown open, making Dorian startle and sit up quickly. To Dorian’s confusion, Riley came scurrying in, holding the door open as Bull came shuffling in while hauling a copper bathtub. Bull set the tub down the only empty corner of the room with a thud and the metal ringing as it hit the stone floor. Letting out a loud huff of breath and wiping sweat off his forehead, Bull grinned at Dorian.

“Good, right?”

Dorian’s feet moved on their own, instantly carrying him over to the bathtub. It was large enough for Dorian to sit in, though not stretch his legs, but it was deep enough for a good soaking. His hands ran over the smooth copper, his fingers nearly shaking as an excited energy ran through him. He couldn’t get his bandages wet, but Dorian was already devising ways to get around that problem. Just the promise of a real bath made Dorian’s spirits soar and any lingering traces of anger and remorse vanished. 

For a second time, Dorian pressed a kiss on Bull’s cheek in gratitude. Bull chuckled under Dorian’s lips, one hand coming up to rest on Dorian’s sharp hip bone. Pulling away, he found that Bull was trying to wink at him with his one eye, to both Dorian’s relief and horror. He was grateful that Riley let himself out before he could witness the whole scene.

“Yeah, I did good,” Bull concluded smugly.

That night, Sera appeared again as Dorian was lying in bed with a book.

“I heard he brought you a _tub_ ,” she crowed.

Dorian looked up from his book, his brow furrowing.

“How did you hear that?”

Sera ignored Dorian and promptly crawled into the tub, her skinny limbs draped over the sides and she howled with laughter, causing tears to gather at the corner of her eyes. Dorian had no idea what was going on. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be the end of the last chapter. This is why this will be a million chapters ;)


	7. Library

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian finally find books that are not by Varric Tethras. Well, some books that aren't by Tethras.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone is safe and well, and enjoying all of the Adoribull Big Bang fics that are rolling out! It's a miracle I even finished this chapter due to how distracted I am now :D

The bathtub was heavenly.

A few experiments with barriers yielded a satisfactory method to keep his bandages dry and Stitches happy, allowing Dorian to fully indulge in his gift. While his knees were tucked up due to the length, it was deep enough that the water came up to his chest. His magic filled the bathtub, kept his bandages safe, and a simple glyph kept the water hot.

It was a wonderfully decadent way to use his magic.

Using a rose scented soap to bubble up the water, Dorian lounged back with a Tethras novel in hand and his neck pillowed by a rolled-up towel. He didn’t care if he got the book wet and the bath made Tethras’s gaudy prose almost bearable. Next to him on the chair and within easy reach was a cup of tea and some spiced nuts that he saved from lunch. It was probably the most relaxed and at peace Dorian had been since before arriving in the Hinterlands.

A rapid knock upon the door rattled the wood and metal hinges, setting Dorian’s teeth on edge.

Letting out a long groan, Dorian called, “Yes, Riley?”

“Lord Dorian?” Came Riley’s timid voice. “I know you said you were not to be disturbed—” 

“Is Bull here? Or is the Herald requesting an audience?” Dorian interrupted.

“Uh, no.”

“Then I am not to be disturbed.”

“Um, but that letter came from Lady Montilyet’s office. The one you said you wanted immediately.”

Dorian dropped his book and leaped out of his bath. A hasty spell evaporated the water clinging to his skin, wisps of steam trailing after him as he hastily pulled on his clothes. In just a few minutes, he was dried, dressed, and pulled open the door to pluck the letter from the mercenary’s hand. He instantly recognized the red wax seal and his heart soared.

“Thank you, Riley.” 

His hand automatically went to his hip for his purse before remembering that he had no coins to give out to the mercenary, let alone a purse. He flushed at his empty pockets, but thankfully Riley was distracted by the latest item in Dorian’s room. 

“The Chief really likes you,” Riley declared as he examined the copper bathtub still filled with hot water and bubbles.

“The Iron Bull is exceedingly kind to me,” Dorian acknowledged, his face warming even more.

“It’s because you’re a good person,” Riley spoke with conviction.

Dorian’s skin felt tight, uncomfortable and he diverted his eyes from his guard. He didn’t respond to Riley’s statement, but instead casually asked, “Might I ask who was that nervous young man who took the nightshift? I don’t mind the change in guard, mind you, but I had just gotten used to Grim’s chatty nature.”

“But Grim’s not—Oh, uh, I get it. That was Stumbles, he’s a mage too. Grim went on a mission with some of the Chargers to Redcliffe,” Riley explained. “But he’ll be back soon.”

The word Redcliffe caught Dorian’s curiosity far more than the change in guard.

“I didn’t realize the Chargers were on a mission since Bull is still here. 

“Oh, that’s because Krem took the company, he does that sometimes.”

That was the name of Bull’s second, Dorian silently reminded himself, and though he never met the man, there was something familiar about the name that pestered the back of Dorian’s mind. Pushing that thought aside, Dorian instead boldly fished for information. 

“And what could there be done at Redcliffe? From what I’ve been told, the Inquisition has the area secured.”

“They went to go investigate the Venatori who were occupying Redcliffe Castle,” Riley supplied helpfully. “Maybe they’ll find out more about the Venatori who kidnapped you.”

Those were not the Tevinter mages Dorian was concerned about in Redcliffe Castle.

“Indeed, I would be interested to hear about anything they find,” Dorian said innocently. 

“I’ll let the Chief know and I’ll see what I can find out from Krem,” Riley offered helpfully.

“I appreciate it, Riley. But it is a pity that you were left behind. You are a rather skilled at keeping me in line, I’m sure your talents would’ve been valuable.” Dorian frowned at his guard, worried that he was hampering his ability to make a name for himself.

“What? No! I have my own assignment.” Riley puffed out his chest. “The Chief told me to protect you. I mean, you’re perfectly safe at Skyhold, but I make sure no one bothers you.”

“And you do a brilliant job of it,” Dorian replied.

Riley hooked his hand behind his neck and his cheeks colored. “Thank you, Lord Dorian. Now, I’ll let you get to your letter. I don’t want the Chief to think I’m slacking when he comes by.”

Once the door was closed, Dorian hurried over the desk and tore open the letter. He was greeted by Maevaris’s elegant script and his eyes eagerly devoured every word she wrote.  
 _  
My Dear Dorian,_

_What a lovely surprise it was to receive your letter and confirm that you are indeed not dead. I had heard no word of your kidnapping nor any demands for ransom, so I had believed you were truly gone, my dear boy. I do ask that you never do that to me again._

_I have written to your Ambassador Montilyet and I’ve provided what I can to the Inquisition for the moment. As modest as what it is, I hope that the information and supplies will secure you good tidings and favorable treatment. I have also put together a small parcel of items for your comfort, it should be arriving shortly._

_While you sang the praises of the Inquisition and of your ambassador friend, I found your letter rather sparse. I demand to know exactly how you are doing, how the Inquisition is treating you, and how injured you truly are. I entreat you not to lie to me, my dear, you know that I have my ways of finding out._

_To answer the one real question you asked me, I do not know what has become of Gereon or Felix. None of my usual sources have been helpful. Truly, I had rather hoped you would be able to tell me.  
_  
Disappointment filled Dorian at the lack of information, but he had only a thin hope that Mae would have anything. The rest of the letter was long and almost rambling. She wrote to him about the daily occurrences of her life, a splendid garden party she threw, the dry goose at a dinner, and the humdrum of idle gossip. But Dorian knew better.  
 _  
I had some rather rude guests at my garden party last week, but I threw them out without much fuss.  
_  
There was an assassination attempt, but she killed them.  
 _  
All has been quiet at the Magisterium, except for the dreadful flies. I managed to swat one.  
_  
Someone was quietly plotting, and spies were lurking the halls. She killed one of them.  
 _  
Do tell me, Dorian, does the Inquisition show you the same hospitality as your family? I will act accordingly should they.  
_  
Was he being hurt by the Inquisition? She’ll kill them if they are.  
 _  
May I recommend you read Swords & Shields? I am sure you will find it comforting and entertaining during these trying times.  
_  
That one might have just been a book recommendation.

Taking one of the sheets of paper that Lady Montilyet provided him with, Dorian dipped his pen into the inkwell and pressed the tip to the paper. A blot of black ink seeped into the thick paper, growing as Dorian’s hand refused to move.

It was odd, Dorian normally had plenty to write even in the dullest moments of his life. But his first letter was short, merely to inform Maevaris of his survival and to introduce her to the Ambassador, and now he didn’t know how to answer his friend’s questions. For several long minutes, Dorian stared at the empty sheet of paper with the pen in his hand.

Giving up on composing a letter, Dorian began to write the first things that came to mind.  
 _  
Venatori using slaves in the Hissing Wastes, digging into buried dwarven ruins, but trouble with demons and cave ins._

_Corrupted Templars taking people in Sahrnia, forcing them to work in the quarry and infecting them with red lyrium. Mayor provides names._

_Venatori collecting bodies in the Exalted Plains for a ritual._

_Moving red lyrium in the Emerald Graves, also there’s a fucking huge bear._

_Ruins in the Western Approach, looking for an artifact that can control—  
_  
The pen dropped from his hand as Dorian’s heart started furiously pounding, leaving a harsh line of ink through the precious paper. His throat and chest felt tight, air wheezing through only with effort. His head spun, forcing him to drop it into his hand to keep the dizziness at bay. Even so, the world narrowed down into a fuzzy darkness that he couldn’t escape. A shout for help was lodged in his throat, unable to escape as he struggled to pull in air. For a moment, Dorian was sure he was going to die.

And then, the moment passed.

He could suddenly breathe again, the darkness edging his vision cleared away, and Dorian found ash and smoke in his hand. The paper where he wrote down his thoughts was gone and there was warm, crumbly ash in its place.

His whole body felt shaky in the aftermath, but Dorian forced himself to go through the motions of cleaning up the evidence of his lack of control. Water and soap wiped away the streaks of grey, but there was a small scorch mark burned into the wooden surface of the desk. He placed the inkwell over it, obscuring the mark from sight.

Dorian then pulled out his cloak and boots from the wardrobe. He paused to look over the cloak, a gift Bull brought to him just the day before. The cloak was heavy, dyed a soft blue and lined with silky white fur, Dorian loved it. Dressed in the boots and cloak that Bull gave him, Dorian felt almost secure, like it was a visual reminder that Dorian was under the Iron Bull’s protection. Wrapped in the luscious fur and fabric was only second to Bull pulling him into a hug.

He figured that the location of a dragon in Crestwood earned him the cloak. Bull responded to that kind of information rather well.

For the second time since he arrived at Skyhold, Dorian stepped out of his room without permission. Sitting faithfully outside the door was Riley with his nose buried in _Hard In Hightown,_ apparently lost in Tethras’s tedious writing. Dorian chose not to disrupt the young man’s reading time.

The air tasted bright and cold, easing open his airways even more, and the vast scenery of the mountainous landscape calmed his nerves. Apart from guard patrols, the ramparts were empty and quiet. A tightness Dorian didn’t even know was in his chest began to unwind and loosen in the sweet silence. It didn’t feel so small outside, nor so confined.

Riley turned a page and happened to glance up.

“Lord Dorian!” Riley scrambled to his feet, tucking his book under his arm. “Are you ok? Do I need to go call Stitches or the Chief?”

“No, I’m fine,” he shook his head with a small sigh. “I just needed a bit of fresh air.”

Riley nodded thoughtfully. “I can imagine. You’ve got an awfully small room for someone of your rank, but I guess they didn’t put you in that wing.”

Dorian filed that bit of information away in his head.

“Hey, did you want a tour of Skyhold?” Riley asked with sudden excitement. “You should really see it! I mean, it might not look like much, but the Lady Herald has big plans for it! She just got these new banners with the Inquisition symbol on them, they look real nice.”

Dorian desperately wanted to see the fortress, but the tightness began to build back up within him and he couldn’t bring himself to agree to a tour.

“I can take you to the library, I bet you’d like that. You’re always reading.”

“A library?” Dorian hesitated, then found himself nodding his head as the tension in his body fell away to curiosity. “Yes, let’s start with that.”

They walked with arms linked along the battlements and through unoccupied rooms, only passing some guards patrolling the walls, who nodded at Riley, and a few runners carrying messages, too busy to even acknowledge them. No one bothered them, there were no second glances at a mage prisoner walking through Skyhold with only a single guard. However, Dorian began to lose confidence when Riley had him wait at a door while the mercenary poked his head inside. Then he waved Dorian forward, leading him into a rotunda with a mural started on the walls.

“I didn’t want to disturb Ser Solas,” Riley explained quietly, though his voice managed to echo. “He can be … touchy.” 

Dorian looked around with discontent at the hollow looking space. There were several stacks of books all over, on the only table, the sofa, and scattered on the floor. It was certainly more books than Dorian currently had access to, but it didn’t make a library. 

“We just need to go upstairs,” Riley pointed upward.

While Dorian was cheered that this was not the library, Dorian’s heart dropped once he saw the steepness of the stairs. He forced a smile. 

“Let’s carry on then, though I may need your strapping arm.”

“Of course, Lord Dorian!”

Despite the strength Dorian gained from his frequent walks with Bull and Riley’s strong arm supporting him, his legs were aching terribly by the time they made it to the top of the steps. His lungs burned for air and sweat dampened his clothes as pain shot up his limbs with each step. He hardly noticed the books surrounding him as he spotted a small alcove with an overstuffed red armchair. Light streamed in from the window next to the chair, illuminating it in the darkened space and beckoned to Dorian as an oasis of comfort and rest. Dorian made a beeline for the chair with energy he hardly knew he had.

Sweet relief filled him as he collapsed into the chair, its plush cushions welcoming his tired body into a comfortable embrace. Dorian was certain he’d never standup again and was stuck in that armchair forever. He did not terribly mind it. 

Riley visibly bit his lip. “You just rest there, Lord Dorian. I’ll bring you some books to look at.”

Without rhyme or reason, Riley pulled a large stack of books from a nearby shelf and placed them on the table next to Dorian. He scanned the titles, most held no interest, but there were a few gems. Extracting the ones that he wanted, none of them by Tethras, Dorian piled them on his lap and cracked the first one open.

“You might as well pull up a chair, we’ll be here for a while,” Dorian informed the mercenary.

Riley stole a chair from an empty table, before positioning it at the entrance of the nook and placing himself between Dorian and the hallway. Despite his earlier inattention, Riley’s head snapped up every time someone passed, his eyes narrowing at them with suspicion as they walked on unaware of the mercenary’s scrutiny. 

Dorian himself was keeping an eye on the room, observing people sitting at tables with books, furiously writing notes, handing reports to runners, and murmuring to each other in an exchange of information. It appeared that the Inquisition employed several researchers.

He and Riley were sitting there for nearly an hour with their books when the Iron Bull found them.

“For fuck’s sake, Knives!” Bull nearly wheezed as he came up the stairs, a light sheen of sweat on his forehead. “Where have you been?”

The young mercenary blinked. “Uh, here, Chief, in the library.” 

“Why are you here?”

“Because Lord Dorian wanted to see the library. I don’t blame him. His room is awfully small.”

“And you didn’t think to leave a note in case I came by?”

“Oh,” Riley brightened, “that would’ve been a good idea! I knew you’d come visit Lord Dorian.”

Bull closed his eye and shook his head.

Shoulders hunching, Riley added sheepishly, “But you know where we are now.”

Bull jerked his head to side. “Go. I’ll keep Dorian company.”

The young mercenary was gone in an instant, scurrying down the stairs and out of sight. Bull let out a loud sigh and dropped into the seat that Riley vacated. Tiredness was sunk into Bull’s face as the sweat dried on his skin.

“I didn’t mean to get him into trouble,” Dorian tried to explain, his tongue tripping over itself. “I won’t leave the room again.”

“It’s not that, sweetheart,” Bull was quick to reassure, his hand reaching over to touch Dorian’s knee soothingly. “You’re free to go wherever you want. I just got concerned when neither of you were there and I didn’t know where you went. It’s nothing for you to worry about it.”

Dorian frowned. “You’re worried about the Templars,” he guessed. 

Bull’s face was unreadable as he said, “You don’t worry about them, ok? They’ve been told not to touch you, a direct order from Leliana and the Commander.”

Swallowing, Dorian found little comfort in the statement. “The library is rather quiet, besides the occasional bird squawking. I haven’t seen a Templar once.”

“Yeah, I don’t think they frequent the library that much,” Bull nodded. “You like it here?”

“It’s a nice change from my room and the reading materials gives me something to occupy my mind, more so than the Tethras novels I am being tortured with.”

The corner of Bull’s mouth curled up into a half smile.

“Perhaps I could earn my keep with the Inquisition and be of some use,” Dorian ventured carefully, watching Bull’s expression. “I’m an accomplished researcher, fluent in Tevene and I can read Nevarran. I am also knowledgeable in magical artifacts and curiosities. It could come in use, considering that the Venatori seem to be hoarding them.”

“Thought you might be a bookworm,” Bull teased, his hand squeezing Dorian’s kneecap before finally pulling away, leaving Dorian’s leg cold.

“A bookworm?” Dorian straightened up in his seat, tipping his chin up in disdain. “Perish the thought! I’ll have you know that I am a fully ranked Enchanter, having studied in some of the most prestigious Circles and worked with some of the most brilliant minds in the Tevinter.”

That last statement took the wind out of Dorian’s sails, realizing that the most brilliant mind he worked with turned to the Venatori. But Bull just looked at him with soft amusement.

“You don’t need to earn your keep, sweetheart. Just concentrate on regaining your strength, ok?”

“But I would like to help the Inquisition. You know it was my intention to begin with.”

Bull pursed his lips. “Stitches said that you shouldn’t push yourself.”

“Reading is hardly pushing myself,” Dorian pressed. “I’m not asking to go out into the field and slaughter Venatori, though I wouldn’t object. It sounds rather delightful actually,” he said with a smile and received a short chuckle from Bull. “All I’d need is a research subject and access to the library.”

“I’ll see what I can dig up,” Bull replied neutrally.

Disappointment sat heavy in Dorian’s stomach at Bull’s lack of enthusiasm. He looked over longingly at the researchers as one started whispering excitedly to her companion and pointing to a page in her book. Her hushed voice catching in the tall ceiling of the room until she caught herself and fell into an appropriate silence. He wondered what she found.

“Is that why the Venatori wanted you?” Bull suddenly asked, his voice almost a whisper.

Dorian’s eyes dropped to lap, suddenly interested in a loose thread on the hem of his sleeve. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“It’s fine,” Dorian shook his head as if to shake himself of any thoughts on the topic. Rather than linger on it, Dorian asked, “Has the Inquisition been to the Emerald Graves?”

“Last I heard scouts were observing the situation there to make a report.”

“I remember the Venatori talking about the Templars moving red lyrium through there,” Dorian told Bull in a hushed tone. Bull nodded his head solemnly until Dorian added, “Also, there seems to be some trouble with bears in the region.”

For whatever reason, that caused Bull to let out a great boom of laughter. 

A young woman, a Tranquil, came up to them and in her flat voice, asked Bull to be quiet. Others in the library were looking up from their studies, glaring at the Qunari and Tevinter pair, and Dorian took that as a sign that it was time to leave. He was pleased that not only did Bull walk him back to his room, but he was good enough to dine with Dorian and lingered after supper until Dorian began to nod off.

Once Bull left, after all but tucking Dorian into bed, Riley popped in to ask, “Did you want anything before you turn in, Lord Dorian?”

Dorian was about to decline when something came to mind. “Would it be possible for you to track down a copy of the book _Swords & Shields_ for me? There is no hurry.”

“Leave it to me!”

The next morning was like every other morning. Dorian peeled himself out of bed and washed, and Stitches came to check up on him and brought an overly healthy breakfast to his dismay. Then Dorian was left to his own devices, idleness eating away at his mind and his soul. He thought about filling the tub again for another bath or asking Riley to see if he could locate Sera, but he was interrupted as the door opened.

“Hey,” Bull’s head poked in, “up for a trip to the library, sweetheart? I’ve got something for you.”

Intrigued, Dorian pulled on his boots and cloak and strolled with Bull to the library. His legs were achy from the long walk the day before, but he was too curious to pay them any mind. He had conveniently forgotten the steepness of the stairs. Dorian stared up at the them, his foot on the first step, but his legs stubbornly refused to move as if his tired body was rebelling against his bored mind.

Bull’s hand cupped Dorian’s shoulder as he said softly, “We can do this another day. I can carry you back to your room.”

“Or you can carry me to the library,” Dorian snapped unkindly as frustration bubbled below the surface.

He was instantly mortified by the tone of his words, but Bull only let out a bark of laughter. 

“Bossy!”

Increasing Dorian’s chagrin, Bull swept him up into his muscled arms and carried him up to the library, forcing a messenger coming down to scurry back up to make room for them. Dorian couldn’t even look at the runner, hiding his burning face in Bull’s shoulder until he was carefully placed in the armchair in the little nook.

As he opened his eyes, Dorian saw that there was a stack of books and a pile of notes and sketches waiting for him. He descended upon them with glee, finding field drawings and observations of odd globes with constellations mapping their surface.

“Marvelous,” Dorian breathed, “an astrarium.”

“Hope you have fun,” Bull chuckled, before pulling a book from the stack to give to Dorian. “Oh, Knives wanted to make sure you got this.” He frowned slightly, “Honestly, I think he might have a crush on you or something.”

Flipping through the book, Dorian could see that it was a romance novel, a rather graphic one at that. He couldn’t imagine why Maevaris wanted him to read it other than a halfhearted to attempt to make him squirm. His confusion was soon forgotten when he took a good look at the cover. Horror and dread filled Dorian in equal measure.

It was another blighted book by _Varric Tethras._


	8. Confidence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian has a bad day. Until he doesn't.

_  
Skin like fine whiskey, lips curled into a smile and eyes cold with cruelty._

_“Are you ready to fulfill your purpose? A friend is waiting for you in the Western Approach.”_

_Fingers were tight in Dorian’s hair, pain radiating from the roots._

_“You’ll cooperate or I’m going to slit your pretty throat for our ritual, but I’m sure you won’t disappoint me. You’re always so beautifully desperate for approval. You’ll kneel for me again, won’t you?”  
_  
Dorian startled awake from his slumber, breaths coming out in gasps. The morning sun was warm on his face, but he was reluctant to open his eyes as dull and pounding pain immediately itself known in his skull and his muscles ached with every little movement. Throwing an arm over his face, Dorian pretended that weren’t leaking from the corners of his eyes.  
_  
“He was twisted the wrong way. He wanted to hurt you because you refused to break, because you were stronger than him.”  
_  
Dorian sat up, frightened and confused, his head swimming as he looked around his empty room before collapsing back down. 

“I’m going crazy,” Dorian half sobbed, but he was honestly too tired to care.

By the time Stitches came to give Dorian his potions and change his bandages, Dorian was still in bed. 

“Maker’s breath,” Stitches lamented. “I told you not to overexert yourself!”

“Don’t yell, I suffer enough,” Dorian croaked from under his cocoon of covers, his face barely poking out.

The back of a hand pressed against his forehead, warm against his chilled skin. “No fever,” Stitches diagnosed with a breathy sigh. “You’ve been staying up late in the library again, haven’t you?”

“Ah, Riley tattled on me,” Dorian mumbled tiredly.

“Tattled?” Stitches barked with laughter. “At the tavern last night, Knives was bragging about all the work you’re doing for the Inquisition.”

Dorian blinked up at Stitches. “Skyhold has a tavern? Why did I not know of this?”

“Right,” the healer let out a long-suffering sigh. “I’m giving you your potions first.”

Concentrated bitterness of royal elfroot slid across Dorian’s tongue as he swallowed down one of Stitches’s many potions, but it did wonders to soothe Dorian’s headache. With the pain subdued to a faint pounding, he managed to sit up with help. It felt like a step backwards in all the progress Dorian made in recovering his health as Stitches helped him wash and change clothes, but the healer was good enough to comment on needing to assist Dorian. But that compassion didn’t prevent Dorian from receiving a lecture.

“You can do your research, but you need to remember to rest. Have Knives bring your books to the room or request to have a cot setup so you can nap during the day.”

That was an idea, Dorian thought, and then said aloud, “If I had a cot in the library, then I wouldn’t have to leave.”

Stitches gave him such an eyeroll that Dorian couldn’t help but be impressed. 

“Your body is recovering from severe trauma. Or did you forget about the infection that nearly killed you? You can’t help anyone if you collapse with another fever.”

“That’s … not a terrible point.”

The healer was mollified and went about quietly changing Dorian’s bandages. As each day went by, the pain faded by just a bit, and the agony of Dorian’s wounds hounded him less and less. Even the burn on his side was becoming tolerable and Dorian merely held his breath as Stitches applied more poultice to it instead of tearing up and fighting not to pass out.

Stitches was examining the mostly healed chaffing around Dorian’s wrists, cradling the delicate bones in his strong hands as he said, “The Chief mentioned that some of your memories are coming back. How are you feeling?”  
_  
Sometimes it feels like I’m back there, that they have me again. Sometimes it feels like I’m dying.  
_  
“I’m ok. The memories don’t bother me.”

Dark eyes looked up at Dorian, narrowing in disbelief. “You tell me if that changes.”

“Of course,” Dorian lied effortlessly.

He was ordered to bedrest for the rest of the day and the next. Stitches even made a show of extracting a promise from Riley not to let Dorian go to the library. Despite his displeasure, exhaustion overwhelmed Dorian and he laid back down in bed once he was alone.

Lounging idly, Dorian decided to make another attempt to figure out why Maevaris told him to read _Swords & Shields_. Skimming the book again didn’t provide any revelations though, it only made him more agitated. He frowned and looked at the inside of the cover, finding a name in elegant script and wondered who Cassandra was and if she was glad to get rid of the book.

Bored and frustrated, Dorian pulled himself up onto his feet and made his way to the door on tired legs to find Riley at his post as usual.

“Lord Dorian, are you ok? Do you need something?” he asked. “You didn’t need to get up, I can hear you if you yell.” 

“I do not need to be confined to my bed,” Dorian waved off the young man’s concern. “Now, would you be so good and fetch my research materials from the library?”

The young mercenary frowned, shifting his weight. “Stitches told me that you shouldn’t work today.” 

Dorian scowled, annoyance making his chest tight. “He said I could work from my room.”

“But he doesn’t want to you work today,” Riley insisted earnestly, “and I don’t want to disobey Stitches, because he’ll get annoyed and then he’ll tell the Chief and then I’ll really be in trouble.”

Trying to let go of his frustration, Dorian wearily agreed. “Well, I wouldn’t want you to get into trouble on my behalf.”

“I can get you the next _Swords & Shields_ book,” Riley suggested, eager to be helpful.

“There’s more than one book?” Dorian was instantly incredulous.

“It’s a whole series, Lord Dorian. I can go get them now.”

Suppressing a sigh as dismay filled him, Dorian nodded and wondered if his day could get any worse. “Very well. Please retrieve the rest of the series for me, but no rush, I would rather nap first.”

“Right! I’ll make sure no one disturbs you, Lord Dorian, except if the Chief or Her Worship comes, like usual.”

“Thank you.”

Going back inside, Dorian settled in bed and became cross at the sheer relief that washed over his body as he laid down. He was angry that his body failed him again and prevented him from doing his research, and his mind was weak and broken, hiding away important information. He didn’t want to rest, he wanted to be useful to both the Inquisition and to the Iron Bull.  
_  
“He’s trying not to use you, but you’re too bright, keeping the madness away.”  
_  
Dorian tried to blink back the heaviness in his eyelids. “Skyhold is haunted,” he muttered with conviction, but soon forgot about it as he fell asleep.

A couple hours later, the smell of food tickled Dorian’s nose. Drowsiness clouded Dorian’s mind as he opened his eyes, feeling confused by the smell and that his feet were unexpected coldly as he seemed to have kicked the covers off his legs. Drawing up his legs under the blankets, Dorian was prepared to continue napping when a familiar calloused hand brushed over his forehead and briefly cupped his cheek.

Bull’s face smiled down at him. “I brought you some lunch and company.”

His stomach grumbled immediately. “I could certainly use both.”

“Sera also said I needed to see her prank.”

“Sera?” he asked, not following Bull. “What prank?”

“You might want to take a look at your toes, sweetheart.”

“What?”

Dorian furrowed his brow but did was Bull suggested and pulled back the covers. He found himself staring at his toenails, now covered in nail lacquer, alternating between a deep red and a glossy black. There was even a crude face painted on one big toe.

“Maker’s breath, how did that imp manage to do that!?”

A deep and loud laugh came from Bull. “Stitches was right when he said you needed rest. You’re lucky that’s all she did. Come on, sit up and have something to eat, then you can go back to sleep.”

“I need something to do, not more sleep,” Dorian complained as he hauled himself upright. Leaning against the headboard, Dorian spotted a package on the table next to his lunch. “Did you come to shower me with gifts? Or is that another prank?”

“Finish your lunch and you’ll find out,” Bull teased as he sat down and held out a plate of food to Dorian.

“You ask so much of me.”

But dining with Bull was no hardship for Dorian. He was always pleased to have the mercenary captain’s company and attention, and Bull always brought him something good to eat. Roasted duck, warm bread, and a thick slice of pie were a nice break from the soup and vegetables Stitches always sent him, even if it was lacking in seasoning. Dorian cleaned his plate, leaving his stomach achingly full, but he couldn’t bring himself to waste the food. Though he was grateful when Bull stole the rest of his pie as the pace of his eating slowed.

Immediately, Dorian’s eyes darted to the package, keen to get his hands on it. But before he could ask about it again, Riley came in to announce Lady Montilyet. The Ambassador came in with a pair of servants, who were hauling a large trunk between them. They placed it at the foot of the bed before being dismissed.

“Good afternoon, Lord Pavus, Bull” Lady Montilyet gave them a bow. “I heard you were unwell today, Lord Pavus.”

“Just a touch tired, but as you can see, the Iron Bull is keeping me in line,” Dorian replied, barely able to contain his building curiosity. “Now, is my room to double as storage for the Inquisition?”

The Ambassador smiled at him. “I wanted to bring you some good news and to personally inform you that a shipment came in from your friend, Magister Tilani, of resources and books for the Inquisition. She also sent this trunk of personal effects for you.”

Dorian’s fatigue instantly evaporated and he was flattered by the Ambassador’s attention. “That is good news, indeed, Lady Montilyet, thank you.”

“My pleasure, Lord Pavus. Magister Tilani is a generous ally in sharing resources and information, and she sent me a lovely box of Carastian candies.”

The Ambassador excused herself and once the door was closed, Dorian scrambled out of bed and to the trunk. The sight of the wooden trunk made Dorian almost giddy with excitement as he kneeled in front of it and threw open the lid. It was tightly packed, and the contents wrapped neatly in tissue paper. He eagerly tore away the paper, feeling like a child on Wintersend.

A note was neatly laid on top of bundles of cloth.  
_  
My dear boy, I hope these small gifts find you well. Do write to me and let me know what else I can send to you._

 _Love,  
Maevaris  
_  
Dorian put aside the note and pulled up the first bundle of cloth. It fell open and Dorian was thrilled to see familiar buckles amongst soft fabric and a cut out at the shoulder. He recognized each item as he pulled them out. There were beautiful robes, shirts, and trousers tailored to his tastes and body, a pair of stylish black leather boots, wonderfully warm sleep clothes, a silk dressing gown, socks and smalls, and even a set of his battlemage armor. There was also a collection of jars and tins of his cosmetics, including a shimmering powder, several pieces of kohl, and a bottle of jasmine perfume.

“Finally, some real clothes,” Dorian sighed in both bliss and relief.

“She has your sizes?” Bull joked.

“I keep some outfits at Maevaris’s estate, she must have emptied out the whole closet.”

Bull slid off the chair and sat on the floor with Dorian, his eye examining the contents of the trunk. He picked up the bottle of perfume, twisting the cap open to take a sniff. An appreciative hum rumbled out of the Iron Bull as he put the bottle down.

“You stay with this magister a lot, huh?” Bull asked casually.

“Only when I need to hide out for a while,” Dorian shrugged with a lopsided smile. “Maevaris offers a safe place for me when I need it.”

“Get into trouble often?”

“I seem to have an unfortunate talent for it.”

Bull let out a little laugh and his mouth half curled into a smile.

Still looking through the trunk, Dorian found a favorite set of robes that he hadn’t seen in a long time. They were made of red silk and butter soft dark leather, decorated with numerous silver clasps. The last time he wore them, he remembered stumbling out of Maevaris’s carriage late in the night after a ball, drunk, and filled with laughter. He remembered Maevaris slinging his arm over her strong shoulders, chuckling at his foolishness as she led him through the entrance of her estate before pouring him into bed. He remembered being normal.

Without thinking, Dorian rose to his feet and started shucking off the boring trousers and plain overshirt that the Inquisition provided for him. The wild idea of burning them crossed his mind, but Dorian managed to restrain himself. He found a set of black leggings and wiggled into them before wrapping the silk robes around his body when he belated remembered that he had an audience.

There was an insufferably smug grin on Bull’s face and Dorian could feel a flush crawling down from his cheeks to his neck. Dorian was usually not embarrassed by his body, he was rather proud of it, but malnourishment and injuries left him less than perfect. But that didn’t stop the admiring look Bull was giving him.

“I can give you some privacy,” Bull offered, though he did nothing to divert his gaze.

“I might actually need some help,” Dorian admitted sheepishly.

His robes were hanging off him and the fabric was loose where Dorian lost muscle mass and he tucked the extra fabric into the belt but was having trouble with the back. He didn’t need to explain what he needed as Bull got up and started to help. Dorian didn’t look as good as when his clothes fit, when his body was exquisite, but it was a vast improvement from the drab clothing the Inquisition provided.

With his spirits lifted, it was happy change from how low he felt that morning. While he physically still hurt and his mind plagued him with nightmares and cutting memories, just being in his own clothes made Dorian stronger. Dorian felt significantly less like a prisoner and more like himself. Like a force to be reckoned with.

Bull’s grin was wide. “You’re always pretty, but the clothes really suit you.”

“Of course, I have impeccable taste. Now,” Dorian turned towards the package temptingly waiting for him, “I want to see what you brought me.”

The grin fell away from Bull’s face and for the first time, he looked openly embarrassed. “Oh, uh, you probably won’t need it anymore.”

Dorian ignored him and strode over to open the package. His eyes were immediately assaulted by vivid pink fabric and was confused about what he was looking at until he unfolded it. The item was a dressing gown made of warm and thick flannel, far better suited for the cold nights in the mountains than the one in the trunk.

“Not really to your tastes, huh?” Bull let out a self-conscious laugh, scratching at the base of his right horn. “I thought you could use it, but you don’t need it now.”

Seeing the appreciative look Bull was giving him, Dorian decided to push his luck a bit. He wanted to keep Bull’s attention on him, wanted Bull himself, but his poisonous memory was unreliable and Dorian wasn’t sure how much Bull gained from his information, if it was enough. However, Dorian had just regained a piece of himself, some of his confidence, and knew he could use it to his advantage.

“I like it,” Dorian told him, planting his hands on the Iron Bull’s bare chest. “I like that you think of me. I like that you come here, bring me gifts, and care about me.” 

Dorian’s hands slid up to Bull’s shoulders and hooking around the back of his neck. 

“I like _you_ very much.”

He had to shift his weight to the front of his feet, giving himself a lift as he brought his face closer to Bull’s. Dorian moved slowly, giving the mercenary plenty of time to step away or laugh off Dorian’s flattery. But Bull didn’t and instead ducked his head down to meet Dorian’s lips as large hands gripped his waist, crinkling red silk.

The kiss was gentler and sweeter than Dorian was used to. There was nothing demanding, no move to deepen the kiss further than Dorian took it. The Iron Bull, despite the hardness of his name, was only softly giving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't mean for this chapter to take so long to come up, but life happened as it does. At the very least I got them to finally kiss! It only took 8 chapters ;)
> 
> Hope everyone continues to enjoy this!


	9. Wine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian gets to indulge in both wine and a love affair.

Skyhold was haunted or Dorian’s memory was much worse than he thought.

A wine glass sat innocently on the table. The glass was clean and clear and filled with a deep red liquid, standing next to empty of plates from Dorian’s lunch as if it was always there. Dorian could not recall seeing the glass when the maid came in with his midday meal and he was sure he would have instantly made note of it. But as he turned away from the writing desk, frustrated at his latest attempt to write to Maevaris, there it was, waiting for him. 

“Sera? Are you here? Is this another prank?” Dorian asked the empty room.

There was no reply.

“Right,” he muttered, further troubled about his memory. “It must have come in with lunch.”

He slowly moved towards the glass as if something untoward might happen if he made any sudden movements, but nothing transpired as he came upon it. The strong smell of wine hit Dorian’s nose, making his mouth water and he just managed to stop himself from grabbing the glass. Instead, he drew a rune in the air and activated a handy spell his mother taught him to detect poisons. The spell didn’t react, and Dorian could not sense any lingering traces of magic.

Satisfied that it was indeed just a glass of wine, Dorian picked it up. Dorian knew he should leave the glass alone, but it was dreadfully long time since he had wine and he was willing to take the risk. He took a tentative sip and a bold, earthy wine with a bite at the end slid across his tongue.

It wasn’t a particularly good wine, definitely a blend and possibly Fereldan at that, but there was a touch of sweetness, like honey, that made it drinkable.

With no immediate reactions to the wine other than a deep sense of satisfaction, Dorian took the drink back to the desk. Wrapping his fingers around the stem of the glass, he picked up his abandoned pen.

The sheet of paper in front of him had only a few lines. He profoundly thanked Maevaris for sending him his clothing and obediently parroted Sister Leliana and Ambassador Montilyet’s entreaties for information, but nothing else. He was sure none of this would comforting to Maevaris.

Despite the moments of horrific panic and flashbacks of what the Venator did to him, Dorian’s mind was woefully blank as he touched the tip of the pen to the paper. And anything that did come to him was too painful, too personal to write to his friend. He couldn’t tell her that disruptions in his pitiful routine scared him. That until she sent him his clothes and cosmetics, he looked and felt like a shadow of himself. That he developed a habit of hiding food so he wouldn’t go hungry if the Inquisition decided to stop feeding him. That he was afraid of losing the Iron Bull’s attention.

A longer, deeper drink of the wine helped ease the tension building in Dorian’s chest. A couple more drinks had his pen finally moving.  
 _  
Now, that I have all formalities out of the way, allow me to tell you about the dashing Tal-Vashoth mercenary captain who rescued me. I will believe you shall be most charmed.  
_  
Dorian was aware that Sister Leliana was reading his letters and he didn’t dare write about his infatuation with the mercenary, but he thought telling Maevaris about the Iron Bull would reassure her that he was being well taken care of. He was on his second page, and halfway through his wine, when a familiar hand pushed the little window open. Dorian immediately moved all his writing materials to the side as Sera came bounding into the room without a care, her foot landing right where his letter once was.

Despite her inelegant entrance, he was pleased to see the elf. She left Skyhold nearly a week ago and Dorian felt her absence keenly. 

“Ah, you’re back from your jaunt with the Inquisitor!” 

Sera just frowned at him and said without much kindness, “You’re beginning to look like a magister.”

The statement unexpectedly stung, but Dorian kept a smile firm on his face and refused to flinch. “Considering how I looked before, I’m going to take that as a compliment.”

A careful application makeup hid the faded yellow bruising on Dorian’s face and the dark circles under his eyes. Shimmering powder made his cheekbones look sharp rather than hollow. And a light sweep of kohl made his eyes look bright instead of tired. Along with his spotless white robes with blue satin trimming, Dorian looked like the highborn Tevinter mage he was. 

It was a fragile illusion though. He knew it wouldn’t take much to knock it all down and have him tumbling back down to a prisoner stripped of everything.

“Shouldn’t,” Sera snorted derisively. But then she took a good look at Dorian, her frown softened, and her earlier harshness faded. “Well, maybe some. You looked like real shite before.”

Dorian watched as Sera stomped across the room and climbed into the empty copper tub, her limbs draping over the edges. Her head was tipped back as she glared up at the ceiling and her thin lips were pulled down into a scowl. Something was wrong and Dorian tried not to take her visible agitation personally.

Grabbing his wine and drawing a chair close to the tub, Dorian sat down. “What’s on your mind?”

That was all the invitation that Sera needed, unloading a mess of thorny feelings she was experiencing after running an errand with the Herald. From what Dorian could recall, it was a favor for Sera, but things didn’t end up the way she expected. Her problems were so wonderfully distracting, and not his own, that Dorian was instantly captivated.

“Look, I approve of putting that guy in his place, his kind hates a leash. But I really wanted to stomp on his face. Like, really wanted to. Some nobles deserve a good face stomping.”

Dorian flushed hard. “Quite the picture you paint there.”

Sera’s gaze slid over to Dorian, catching his eyes. “You didn’t deserve it,” she told him as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, “but this guy did. I think might like the Inquisitor more if she’d let me stomp on more faces and stop letting users, who get people killed, live.”

“It’s smart of the Inquisition to squeeze him dry, it’s what they should do with their highborn enemies.” Dorian took a drink of his wine to ease the uncomfortable truth.

Sera rolled her eyes at him. “What would you say if the Inquisition was using those arsewipes who kidnapped and tortured you instead of letting you stomp on their faces?”  
 _  
Dorian flinched hard as the hand that had so viciously burned him the night before tenderly caressed his cheek._

_“I’m riding out ahead, but I’ll be waiting for you in the Western Approach. Will you miss me?” A thumb pressed below Dorian’s swollen eye through his blindfold, deepening the bruise there. “Will you miss my touch?”_  
  
Dorian’s heart started to thud heavily in his chest as his grip on the glass tightened and his other hand balled into a fist, nails digging into his palm to keep himself present. 

“It’s not an issue. The Iron Bull and the Chargers killed all of the Venatori that had me.”

“It’s all good in the end, I guess. I still like her, and she accepts me, which is weird,” Sera rambled, moving on from the topic. “She flirts a lot and it’s nice, right? But I think she likes Blackwall too, they’re real cozy together, and I don’t share.”

Relaxing his hands, Dorian replied, “Sounds complicated.”

“I know, right? I don’t do complicated.”

“Blackwall, he’s the Grey Warden, correct? Does he like the Herald as well?” 

“The only thing Blackwall likes more than Grey Wardens is her. Worships her. Practically throws griffon feathers at her feet.”

“Interesting, and she likes that?”

Sera paused, poking her tongue from between her lips. “You know, she doesn’t. She not all into the worship part of this, I think that’s what keeping her from banging Blackwall right away.”

“Well, I say let her pursue you, let her work for it,” Dorian advised. He had no idea what he was talking about, but he gained confidence as he drained the rest of his sweetened wine. “If she expresses interest and is not obviously involved with this Blackwall fellow, then go for it. The world is in war and chaos, so what do you have to lose? Besides, all I’ve heard since I’ve been in the custody of the Inquisition is how beautiful the Herald is.”

“Not a bad idea and she is something. Woof,” Sera sighed happily. Then her head jerked up, her eyebrows rising into her uneven bangs. “Hey, what did you mean by cus—” 

She didn’t manage to finish her thoughts as the Iron Bull came in without knocking. A bundle was tucked under his arm and he didn’t look surprised at all to find Sera sitting in an empty tub.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt,” Bull apologized even as he continued into the room with no intention of leaving. He held up Dorian’s shaving kit, “Just thought Dorian might need a shave.”

“Ugh, yeah, that’s what you call it, huh? I’m going to go so you two can make eyes at each other. I don’t want to see that,” Sera waved her hand at them in exasperation as she climbed out of the bathtub.

With hardly another word, she made her way out the window, leaving Dorian and the Iron Bull alone.

“So, you’re here to give me a shave?” Dorian asked, his lips curling into a pleased smile.

“Eventually,” Bull answered coyly as he set aside the shaving kit and stretched out on the narrow bed, laying on his side with his head propped up on his hand. He patted the narrow space next to him. “But I want to enjoy your stubble first.”

Dorian snorted and laid down, turning onto his uninjured side to face Bull. “You should’ve waited until I came to you. You have the bigger bed.”

“I like your bed. It forces you to be close to me.” Bull’s hand pressed on Dorian’s lower back, encouraging him to cuddle into Bull’s space. “Besides, if I waited to you to come to me, I’d never see you. You were too busy gossiping with Sera about what a good kisser I am.”

Dorian kept his face neutral, knowing that Bull was likely fishing for information. He was aware that it was likely not in the mercenary captain’s favor to be so intimately linked with a Tevinter prisoner. While Sera was friendly to Dorian, he didn’t know her well enough to confide in her about Bull. He didn’t want to do anything to damage Bull’s reputation or risk any of the privileges he gained. 

“Perish the thought, I understand discretion,” Dorian replied haughtily. “Besides, we were speaking of much more important matters.”

“Really now?” Bull laughed. “More important than kissing me?”

“Yes. I was finding out about the Inquisitor’s love life.”

“Oh?” Bull’s eye widened, real interest creeping in. “Learn anything good?”

“Oh, you know, just a love triangle between Andraste’s chosen, a Grey Warden, and a crazy elf. I’m rooting for the elf.”

Bull’s fingers ran up the length of Dorian’s arm, tracing the seam of his sleeve. “Hm, good. You should encourage Sera to pursue the boss.”

“I should?” Dorian thought that the Herald’s choice in lover seemed to be an odd matter for a mercenary captain to be concerned about. It was Dorian’s turn to fish for information. “Is there some sort of Inquisition betting pool on the Herald’s choice of lover? How much money do you have on this?”

Bull laughed and shook his head. “None, but I think Sera is a better choice for her.”

“Pray tell.”

“Blackwall is a good guy, but there’s something funny about him. He’s hiding something.” 

“Oh?” Dorian was startled to hear that, knowing the scrutiny he continued to receive even though he was nowhere close to the Herald. Unlike Warden Blackwall. “Do you mean … Is he possibly an agent of the Venatori or Red Templars?”

“No, nothing like that,” Bull reassured him right away, soothingly rubbing Dorian’s arm. “Blackwall’s dedicated to the cause and to the boss, he’s got no other agenda. But whatever he’s hiding, it’s probably something that the boss doesn’t need to deal with.”

“It wouldn’t be unusual for a Grey Warden to have a past and I can see how that might become complicated later. Well then, I am certainly convinced, I will do everything in my power to unite Sera and the Herald of Andraste.”

Dorian was already actively trying to push Sera towards the Inquisitor. He genuinely wanted Sera to be happy, but on a more practical level, Dorian knew it couldn’t hurt to be friends with someone intimately connected with the Herald of Andraste. If he got closer to Sera and she was in a relationship with the Herald, it could increase his chances of obtaining an audience with her. He was using Sera like he was using Bull. Dorian knew he was not a very good man.

Pushing aside those thoughts, Dorian traced the outline of Bull’s shoulder with his fingertips, quietly observing, “That wound from your training accident is all healed up.”

Bull flexed his arm with an infuriating grin. “Told you not to worry about it, sweetheart. Didn’t even leave a scar.”

Dorian sighed dramatically. “Do not worry, you say, when you get hurt from—”

Bull silenced Dorian’s tirade with a long and lingering kiss that Dorian all but melted into.

Bull suddenly pulled away and smacked his lips. “Hey, did you have wine today?”

“It was only one glass and hours after I was given my medicines,” Dorian was quick to defend himself. “Don’t tell Stitches.”

“I won’t, I like how it tastes in your mouth,” Bull chuckled before his expression shifted to something more thoughtful. “You kind of taste like honey too. Huh.” But Bull didn’t dwell on it much before leaning in to kiss him again.

Even as occupied with Bull’s tongue in his mouth as he was, Dorian couldn’t help thinking that they should have had sex by now, but all they did was kiss like naive adolescent lovers. Dorian wasn’t sure what the Iron Bull was getting out all of this. He seemed happy enough to kiss Dorian, to run his fingers through his hair, and whisper sweet, empty words. Which Dorian appreciated, finding himself craving a gentle touch more than anything else, ravenous for intimate contact more than physical pleasure.

For all the ease and gentleness that Bull approached him with, Dorian might have believed that sex wasn’t a priority for Bull. But Bull’s hideous striped pants didn’t hide much, and he couldn’t forget what Sera told him before. That Bull got around. 

Perhaps Bull found satisfaction elsewhere. Perhaps he wanted to keep Dorian happy because Dorian kept giving him intel on the Venatori to pass onto the Inquisition.

Dorian pulled away with a smile, sitting up as his fingers found the clasps of his robes and unfastened them. With an elegant shrug of his shoulders, his robes slid off into a pool of silk and leaving Dorian half naked. Feeling looser and easier from his earlier drink, Dorian managed to keep his smile in place and to not let his own dismay over his broken body show. It helped that Bull’s single eye never left Dorian as his own amused grin turned sharp and hungry.

The Iron Bull rolled over onto his back and then large hands grabbed at Dorian, pulling him down carefully by his shoulders, maneuvering him until he was draped on top of Bull. One arm was wrapped gingerly over Dorian’s upper back, avoiding the mass of bruises that were still stretched over his skin. Bull’s other hand settled less than innocently on one side of Dorian’s ass, though the hand stayed over his trousers and Bull didn’t do anything suggestive.

Bull always ran hot, and his frequent touches always left Dorian warmed, but with so much of their bare skin touching, Dorian was burning up in the best way possible. He liked the feel of Bull’s rough skin against his own, the heat that rolled off him, and the tender caress of Bull’s hands on his torso. The desire surprised Dorian. He was doing this for Bull, but found his own arousal stirring within him and he wanted Bull to make him feel good. He wanted to stop hurting.

Dorian nuzzled Bull’s neck and whispered, “I think we’re going need the bigger bed.”

A pleased chuckle shook Bull’s chest and his arms tightened around Dorian, pressing him closer. It made Dorian feel safe and cared for.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.”


	10. Grief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian receives some unwelcome information. At least no one touched his Tethras books.

“You better send that one to bed.”

Dorian jerked his head up from where he was busy composing his research notes into a coherent composition, startled by an unfamiliar Free Marcher accented voice. Hardly anyone approached him, especially now that Dorian looked the part of a Tevinter magister. The only person brave enough was the unblinking Tranquil, who often asked for a book on behalf of other researchers.

But it wasn’t the Tranquil speaking. Standing at the entrance of his nook in the library was a tall Qunari woman, her head tilted towards where Riley had fallen asleep, body lax in his chair and _Hard in Hightown_ splayed on his chest. In the yellow glow of the candlelight Dorian thought she appeared warmly amused.

The Qunari woman wasn’t as large as the Iron Bull, but she was struck an impressive figure. Her face was kind with a scar running down her left cheek, horns pulling away from her face and dyed auburn hair tied back in a tight bun. Her clothes suggested that she was a scout, dressed in blue and purple leathers, long gloves covering her hands, and dark knee-high boots. From the quality of her outfit, Dorian figure she must have a higher rank than a mere messenger.

“Oh,” Dorian let out a quiet chuckle. “Yes, thank you. I did not realize how late it was.”

“Lost in research?”

Dorian smiled. “Indeed. I wanted to finish this report on my findings for Sister Leliana tonight.”

“I’m always impressed by what you researchers do for the Inquisition,” the Qunari scout mused aloud. “I like to read and learn new things, but you’re on another level. You take ancient arcane knowledge and make it useable for us in the field, it’s really amazing.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, but I have to admit that I would much rather be in the field than researching,” Dorian confessed with a wry half smile. 

“Oh?”

“Let’s just say that I have a keen interest in seeing the Venatori defeated.”

The scout’s expression became soft and understanding. “I’m not surprised, the Venatori have hurt a lot of people,” her Free Marcher voice was tender with sympathy. “You could put in for a field assignment if you’ve got combat experience.”

Dorian shook his head as his smile dropped. “I am quite skilled in combat, but I wouldn’t really fit in with the regular troops and Sister Leliana certainly wouldn’t give me an assignment.”

“You should ask your friend here if the Iron Bull might take you,” she suggested, tipping her chin towards Riley. “The Bull takes on just about anyone able to hold their own.”

“That’s not a terrible idea.” Dorian perked up, intrigued by the suggestion.

“Well, good luck to you,” the scout said with a nod. “I better not keep Leliana waiting.”

“Oh, if you’re going upstairs, would you mind taking my report up to her?” Dorian asked.

“Give it here, I’ll make sure she gets it,” she held out her hand.

Dorian handed over his papers and watched as the scout made her way up the stairs to the third level of the rotunda before reaching over to grasp Riley’s arm, shaking his guard awake. Riley startled, his book tumbling to the floor as his head whipped around.

“My apologies, I’ve kept you here long enough,” Dorian said as he rose from his armchair, wincing as aches and pains made themselves known in his body. Despite Stitches’s stern orders, Dorian hadn’t taken a break other than to have a quick lunch and dinner. “I promise not to drag you out here too early tomorrow.”

The mercenary rubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand as he picked up his fallen book. “Don’t worry, Lord Dorian, I’m happy to escort you to the library whenever you want.”

Dorian gathered up his books and notes, which Riley graciously carried for him without a word and offered his arm. Dorian was getting much stronger, but at the end of a long day with little rest, he was grateful for the young man’s support. Especially while navigating the stairs.

As they walked in companionable silence, Dorian pondered over the Qunari scout’s suggestion. 

It would take all of Dorian’s negotiating skills to convince Sister Leliana and Ambassador Montilyet to allow him to leave Skyhold. But if he gained Bull’s support and if Maevaris could pledge more aid to the Inquisition, he might have a chance. If the Spymaster and Ambassador could be persuaded that Dorian was a better asset to the Inquisition in the battlefield and that he would remain under Bull’s thumb, then Dorian would gain the opportunity to fight the Venatori as he intended. And Bull was rather obliging to Dorian, he was sure it wouldn’t be a problem with the mercenary captain if Stitches deemed him healthy enough. It would be difficult, but not impossible.

Dorian was so busy flattering himself with this newly formed plan, that he nearly missed the soldier hurrying along the ramparts, coming from the direction of Dorian’s room. The soldier was quickly walking along with her head held high and passing a set of stairs until she caught sight of Dorian and Riley. She froze for a second, then changed course and headed down the stairs she just breezed by. She was draped in a dark cloak and hood, but as she turned, he caught sight of a familiar face, causing Dorian to silently gasp.

She was the first guard stationed at his room, the surly Templar that told Dorian not to step outside. He hadn’t seen her since Riley took her place. Dorian could not think of why she was in that part of Skyhold as he was kept in a rather isolated part of the fortress from what he could tell. 

Dorian wondered if she was looking for him, but quickly dismissed that since she deliberately avoided him. His heart began to pound in his chest at the thought that she was more interested in taking advantage of his absence.

Riley slowed his stride, his hand tightening on Dorian’s arm. “Lord Dorian, are you ok? You’re trembling and looking kind of pale.”

Dorian blinked at the young mercenary, hardly noticing that he was shaking, and that his breath was coming in and out in short gasps.

“Did you need to stop and rest? Or I could carry you back to your room,” Riley offered as he threw his shoulders back.

“I, uh, no,” he shook his head, trying to steady both his hands and his breathing. “No, I’m fine. Just cold.”

Riley did not look convinced, but he gallantly took off his own cloak and placed it over Dorian’s shoulders, refusing to take it back. Surprisingly, the very gesture helped ease some of Dorian’s nerves. Despite his anxiety and exhaustion, Dorian picked up the pace to get to his room quickly for the mercenary’s sake.

“I can go get Stitches,” Riley said as they approached the room. “You really don’t look so good.”

“There is no need for that, I just require a hot bath,” Dorian insisted and handed Riley back his cloak. “Thank you, I shall inform the Iron Bull that you are most deserving of a raise.”

Dorian bid Riley a good night and stepped into his room, becoming instantly uneasy once he was alone. Something didn’t seem right in the small space, but nothing glaringly obvious to inform Dorian what was wrong.

The bed was still neatly made. His stack of dreaded Tethras novels on the nightstand were undisturbed. The bottles of shampoos, soaps, and lotions were still lined up on the dresser. The desk appeared untouched, but as he took a closer look, Dorian was convinced that the wax seal on Mae’s latest letter had a small chip missing and his stack of papers were not as straight as he left them. He was also sure that the inkwell was moved, exposing the burn on the desk surface from when he lost control.

He seized the stack of papers, leafing through it to ensure to himself that they were all blank. His most recent letter to Maevaris was already in the Ambassador’s hands and the sheet where he jotted down his random recollections was burned. In his fit of paranoia, Dorian checked to make sure that there were no impressions on the clean sheets, in case he wrote on top of one of them.

Once he was satisfied, Dorian turned his attention to the wardrobe and found his clothes hanging innocently. But his tattered robes at the bottom of the wardrobe did not appear as neatly folded as they were before. He unfolded his robes, finding them still a tattered mess and finding no way to figure out if they were tampered with. Then Dorian carefully lifted the loose board in the wardrobe, relieved that his silk purse of food was sitting where Sera left it.

Thinking of his food stash, Dorian went to the nightstand drawer and immediately found that the crackers wrapped in handkerchief that he was hiding away were gone. Only crumbs at the bottom of the drawer remained.

Dorian’s legs became weak and he all but collapsed on the bed, his hands covering his face, his fundamental sense of security shaken to its core.

“Why couldn’t she have just taken the stupid Tethras books?” 

He knew that he couldn’t stay in that room, not with the knowledge that someone had rummaged through it while he was gone. He managed to get to his feet, grabbed the silk purse of food hidden the wardrobe and Maevaris’s letters, tucking them into his robes before walking out the door.

Riley was still there, hovering nearby and twisting his hands together. “You’re not ok,” Riley said quickly, jittery with nerves. “I’ll get Stitches.”

“No,” Dorian replied swiftly before the mercenary could dash off. “No, I’m fine, I just need to speak to the Iron Bull. Would you walk me to his room?”

“Uh, I don’t know if he’d be there. He stays up pretty late and he isn’t always in his room.”

“That’s ok. I can wait for him.”

Riley hesitated. “Are you ok to walk over there, Lord Dorian? I can go find the Chief, I’m real fast.”

“I’ll be fine,” Dorian lied.

The anxiety didn’t ease off Riley’s face, but he relented and escorted Dorian over to the Iron Bull’s room. Dorian should have been exhausted considering that it was the end of the day and having just walked from the library, but his eagerness to get away and to see Bull kept him moving. Though he might have leaned on Riley’s arm more than usual.

Bull’s room was dark when they arrived, but the door was unlocked. Dorian was afraid that he might have walked in on Bull sleeping, but Riley dismissed that fear.

“We’d know if the Chief was sleeping before we even walked in,” Riley said as he lit a lamp on the wall and moved to the fireplace to start a fire. “I’m more afraid of walking in on the Chief while he’s, you know, _with_ someone.”

Dorian’s throat tightened. He hadn’t even thought of the possibility and was beginning to regret coming to Bull’s room unannounced. Even though the room was empty, he dreaded the thought of being there if Bull came in with someone else on his arm.

“I’m going to go look for the Chief. I’ll lock the doors to the ramparts,” Riley kept talking as he flitted around the room, “but I’ll leave the one to the tavern unlocked in case the Chief comes back. No one who’s not supposed to be here will come up that way. Will you be ok, Lord Dorian?”

Dorian sat down gingerly on the edge of Bull’s unkept bed, trying not to think about who else might have occupied it.

“I believe I will manage without you, Riley, but only for a short while. Thank you for your help.”

“Right. I’ll be back soon.” The young mercenary headed towards the door before twisting around and added, “Oh, if an … odd, pale guy comes in and says weird things, uh, don’t be alarmed. He means well, he’s just a bit touched, you know? His name is … Huh, can’t remember his name …” Riley blinked hard and shook his head. “Don’t worry about it, Lord Dorian!”

“Right, not to worry,” Dorian sighed as Riley left, leaving him alone in Bull’s room.

The room felt cold and abandoned without Bull there to fill the space. The shadows from the broken furniture were cast wildly along the walls from the fireplace, looming menacingly as if trying to chase Dorian away. Dorian knew he didn’t belong there, but he couldn’t return to his room and he had nowhere else to go. 

As he sat there, Dorian had a moment to think and to doubt.

He began feel ridiculous for rushing to Bull’s room over a missing handkerchief and crackers. For all he knew, a maid came in to tidy his room while he was gone, found the stale crackers in the drawer and threw them away like a sane person. Every other minor detail such as his inkwell moved, his ragged robed folded incorrectly, the askew pile of papers, all of that could have been done by a maid or himself.

And Dorian began to question if he had actually seen his former Templar guard. It was dark out and she was some distance away with a hood on. The woman could have been anyone and even if it was her, Dorian had no proof she had gone inside his room.

He had just managed to convince himself that he overreacted when the door opened.

Dorian stood, ready to explain himself to Bull, who was hopefully alone, but it wasn’t the Iron Bull who entered the room. It was a young Tevinter man, clad in leather armor, with a handsome face. He had deep circles under his eyes and a fresh scratch on his cheek, but the young man carried the look well with grim determination. Dorian was sure he had never seen the man before, but he looked painfully familiar, making Dorian nearly lightheaded with an unexplained and sudden ache of longing and grief.

“Chief—”

The Tevinter man halted, his eyes fixed on Dorian’s face and his mouth still open to say whatever it was he was going to say. 

Dorian’s stomach churned as he had a sudden flash of a memory, of lying prone in a wagon, fever burning his body, and a bitter potion sliding down his throat. And of Felix, sitting there with him, watching over him as Dorian begged for forgiveness. 

_“I’m sorry.”_

_“Don’t be. Just rest.”_

_“All I wanted was to see you one last time.”_

“Felix?” Dorian managed to croak out before he fell into darkness.

Pain was an unwelcome, but well acquainted, companion when Dorian opened his eyes. His head and half of his face throbbed slowly in agony, and his mouth tasted of sour bile. Looking around him, Dorian knew that room around him wasn’t his own, sparking a panic as he tried to get up, determined to escape. A hand pressed on his chest, guiding him back down. 

A kind, Tevene accented voice told him, “Rest, you hit your head pretty hard. I sent someone to find the Iron Bull and Stitches.”

Dorian relaxed at the mention of Bull and slumped back down upon the mattress.

“I know you,” Dorian half mumbled as he began to recall fainting in Bull’s room.

“I was with the Chief when he found you and I took shifts watching over you on the way here. I’m kind of surprised you remember me at all though, you were pretty out of it.”

Dorian closed his eyes and took a long breath as he realized his mistake. “I thought you were Felix.”

“Yeah, and you forced me to remember how to speak Tevene,” the young man let out a weak laugh. “I haven’t spoken it in years.”

Opening his eyes, Dorian found that he couldn’t look at the man’s face for too long without becoming unbearably sad. He focused on the gaping hole in the ceiling as he asked, “And what is your name? As it is obviously not Felix.”

“Cremisius Aclassi, my lord.”

“Bull’s second,” Dorian recalled. “You went to Redcliffe Castle.”

“Just got back, I was about to give my report to the Chief.”

Dorian sat up quickly, planting his hands on the mattress as he swayed from a bout of dizziness and pain. Cremisius gripped Dorian’s shoulder, steadying him before trying to push him back down, but Dorian grasped his wrist.

“Please, tell me what you found there.”

“I should really—”

“Please,” Dorian begged, his voice cracking. “I need to know what happened to my friends, to Felix and Alexius.”

Cremisius hesitated, his eyes darting away from Dorian. It looked as though he was going to refuse, and Dorian struggled to hold back his tears of frustration and desperation. 

“Right,” Cremisius finally nodded with a little sigh. “Yeah, ok.”

Dorian squeezed Cremisius’s wrist before letting it go. “Thank you.”

“We went to Redcliffe Castle, the arl was about to return, but we convinced him to let us search it before he did,” he explained. “The Venatori abandoned the castle, but they left behind some documents and the tracks were still pretty fresh. We managed to find the last of them camped by some ruins. We caught them by surprise, and we found your friend, Lord Felix, with them.”

“Felix? Was he alive? Was Alexius with him?”

“Lord Felix was alive,” Cremisius confirmed, but then shook his head. “But Magister Alexius wasn’t with him.”

“Alexius is dead then,” Dorian whispered, sorrow nearly overwhelming him. Whatever Alexius became, Dorian could not forget who he used to be, the man Dorian cared for. The man he used to compare all others to, including himself.

Cremisius shook his head again, confusing Dorian. “Not according to Lord Felix. He said that his father was sent west to Orlais on a mission, he didn’t know what for, but he seemed to think that Magister Alexius was a threat to you.”

“No.” Dorian couldn’t believe it. “No, there is no way Alexius would have left Felix. He must have known the Venatori were going kill him and he told Felix that to give him some comfort for when he disappeared. Alexius has to be dead.”

His countryman frowned. “We don’t know where Magister Alexius is going yet, but we found missives that confirm Lord Felix’s account and it sounds like he left of his own free will. As far as we know, Magister Alexius is still alive and somewhere in Orlais.”

It didn’t make any sense to Dorian. He couldn’t comprehend why Alexius would have willingly left Felix’s side. Perhaps the Venatori threatened Felix, but he still couldn’t imagine Alexius leaving his son behind. Pushing that mystery aside, Dorian pressed, “And what of Felix?”

The frown deepened on Cremisius’s face. “He wasn’t well when we found him, but he was relieved that you were safe and with the Inquisition. I, uh, I didn’t tell him how bad off you were when we found you.”

Dorian let out a sigh of relief. “Thank you.”

“I might have embellished your rescue a bit too,” Cremisius admitted, scratching the back of his neck, “but I think it pleased him, he thought you should have a dramatic rescue. I told Lord Felix that the Iron Bull was watching over you at Skyhold, making sure you were taken care of, and that made him happy. The entire trip, all he could talk about was how happy he was that you were ok, that he was relieved that his father or the Venatori didn’t have you. He asked about what you were doing, and we told him about all the things you’ve been doing for the Inquisition, it made him proud.”

“Is Felix here?” Dorian dared to hope. “Is he still alive?”

Cremisius shook his head, his shoulders slumping. “I’m sorry. I tried to get him here and we made him as comfortable as we could, but the journey was too much for him and the Blight took before we made it to the Frostbacks. He was at peace when he died and we gave him a proper funeral, I sang the Chant for him.”

Dorian expected as much, but it didn’t hurt any less as it felt like his entire being was torn asunder. “Thank you,” the words coming out hoarse and strained. “Thank you for your kindness. Felix wasn’t devout, but his mother was, and he would have appreciated having the Chant sung. It’s good that if Alexius couldn’t be there, if I couldn’t be there, that Felix died amongst allies rather than the Venatori.”

A sword calloused hand reached out and took Dorian’s. He was surprised to find that there was a watery sheen to Cremisius’s dark eyes. “I regret that we didn’t go to Redcliffe Castle sooner, I suggested it before Haven was destroyed, but ... Well, we might have found your friend sooner, could’ve gotten him away from the Venatori at least. Even though I only knew him for a short time, I could tell that Lord Felix was a good man and that he loved you a lot.”

Cremisius let go of Dorian’s hand and reached into a leather pouch on the hip of his belt. He withdrew a couple crumpled pieces of paper and familiar locket. Pressing them into Dorian’s hand, he explained, “Lord Felix wrote you a letter and I brought you his locket. The Herald gave it to me to return to Lord Felix in case we found him. I was going to burn it with his body, but I thought it would be better to give it to you.”

Dorian’s grip tightened around the items, the papers creasing in his hand and the hard edges of the locket bit into his palm. 

“I’m sorry I couldn’t bring you better news.”

With a half sob, Dorian replied, “Don’t be, it was as I expected. I’m gratified that you helped Felix and that my stupidity didn’t get him killed. I am sure the Venatori would not have kept him alive for so long had they known he was helping me, and I am equally sure it would not have been a peaceful death. Thank you again, for all you and the Chargers did for Felix.”

“Don’t mention it,” Cremisius gave him a small smile. “Would you like a moment alone, Lord Dorian, or …?”

“Please.”

“Of course. Should I tell the Chief to come up when we find him?”

“If you would.”

Cremisius left, closing the door softly behind him. Dorian laid back down, his head pounding and his heart sick with grief. As devastated as he was over Felix’s death, the fact that Alexius was still alive wouldn’t leave him. That piece of information nagged Dorian, digging into something hidden in his mind. 

He squeezed his eyes shut as knowledge that Alexius was alive shook something from within Dorian. A memory that already plagued him before resurfaced, but it was clearer, sharper, and revealed itself to Dorian in full.  
 _  
“I’m riding out ahead, but I’ll be waiting for you in the Western Approach. Will you miss me?” A thumb pressed below Dorian’s swollen eye through his blindfold, deepening the bruise there. “Will you miss my touch?”_

_The hand withdrew, leaving Dorian’s eye throbbing and it rested on Dorian’s neck, right above the heavy collar. Dorian was forced to bite down on the filthy gag in his mouth to keep from making a sound and giving his tormentor a reason to strangle him. Still, the hand flexed, applying pressure to his throat._

_“Don’t worry,” the smooth, silky voice told him, “Alexius is there too, he’s preparing a warm welcome for you. He’s very eager to see you.”_

_Dorian shook his head, refusing to believe it. Despite the madness Alexius was descending into, he couldn’t accept that Alexius meant him any harm._

_The hand tightened, beginning to disrupt Dorian’s air flow. “He’ll have your cooperation or your blood, he doesn’t care which. But you won’t disappoint me, hm?”  
_  
Dorian drew in a shaky breath as he accepted what his own mind tried to hide from him. Alexius was at the Western Approach, waiting for Dorian. Alexius knew Dorian was in the hands of the Venatori and did nothing about it. Instead he wanted to use Dorian.

Curling up on the bed, he reached for a pillow and cradled it to his chest, holding it in a death grip. Burying his face into the pillow, the Iron Bull’s scent filled his nose and a wave of loneliness crashed into Dorian. That was all it took for the dam to break and Dorian could no longer hold back his sobs.

He grieved over Alexius’s betrayal. He grieved for Felix, his only friend. 

If he had been stronger, then he could have gone with the Chargers, could have been there with Felix. If he hadn’t been caught in the first place, Dorian could have taken Felix home or to the Inquisition to be cared for. He should have been there for his friend. Felix shouldn’t have had to die surrounded by strangers, but Dorian was too weak, too broken to be of any use.  
 _  
“Corruption taking him, the vile twisting, devouring. The end, his peace, getting closer. Clinging to a memory, embracing a friend one last time. Dorian, strong, beautiful, alive, alive, alive. ‘Cremisius, don’t tell Dorian, don’t tell him about this. I want him to remember me as I was.’ He didn’t want you to remember the Blight, he only wanted you to remember him.”  
_  
The tight pain in his heart began to relax and Dorian found himself calming down enough to start drifting off, falling into the sweet oblivion of sleep. He was nearly asleep when he thought he felt a hand touch his hair, a warm solid body lying next to him, and a gentle, deep voice.

“I’m so sorry, kadan.”


	11. Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian deals with grief. He's not super good at it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter this time around. Hope everyone is still enjoying this, I've still got a ways to go :D

_My Dear Dorian,_

_I write you this letter with the fear that I will not survive the journey to Skyhold. Leaving Redcliffe Castle at the behest of the Venatori was an ordeal of its own and I am feeling considerably weaker as we approach the Frostbacks. The mercenaries have made every effort to make me comfortable, but I know it cannot be long now._

_Do not despair, Dorian, you know that I am at peace with my death. I am just grateful that the Chargers found me and brought me news of you before I passed. Cremisius is a kind and dear man, he has kept me abreast on everything about your stay and work with the Inquisition._

_I have feared for you ever since you disappeared, and I was losing hope of ever knowing what had become of you. I cannot tell you the joy I felt when I found out that you are alive and with the Inquisition. I cannot fathom what you experienced at the hands of the Venatori, Cremisius was not forthcoming with details and I imagine he is withholding much of the truth from me. But I am satisfied to merely know you are well and being taken care of._

_Cremisius did tell me of your rescue though. How exciting to be rescued by such a dashing mercenary captain! It is all rather romantic from the way he tells it. I am sure you were pleased by the experience, at least in hindsight. I would have very much liked to have met this Iron Bull.  
_  
Dorian looked up from Felix’s letter as Bull came into the room with his breakfast.

“Sorry, I can give you some privacy,” Bull said as he placed the tray on a table, one of the few upright pieces of furniture in the room.

Dorian shook his head and put the letter down. “This is my fifth time reading it.”

He got up out of bed, pulling his soft under robe closer to his body as he left the warmth of the covers. Dorian didn’t recall undressing the night before, but he woke up that morning bundled in a cocoon of blankets and Bull’s arms, with his boots removed and the heavy outer layers of his robes neatly hanging over the headboard.

“I was going to bring breakfast to you,” Bull said as he picked up a couple chairs from where they were strewed on the floor.

“I am no longer an invalid, I can take my meals at a table,” Dorian replied lightly. “Just ignore this,” he waved his hand around the bruised portion of his face from when he fainted.

Bull snorted and grabbed a blanket from the bed, draping it over Dorian’s shoulders.

Dorian stared down at his breakfast, a modest spread of thick slices of toast, jam, a bowl of porridge, and a floral teapot filled with black tea. He felt his stomach lurch just at the sight of it. Only a day ago, he would have cleared his plate even if his belly was aching, afraid to let a morsel of food go to waste. But that morning his appetite was gone and the bread he put into his mouth tasted of ash. He only managed to finish a slice of toast by washing it down with lots of tea.

Bull looked over at the untouched bowl of porridge and urged gently, “You should eat a little more, sweetheart.”

Dorian frowned, but he tried to go through the motions and took a couple bites of his porridge. Even sweetened with honey, the porridge felt overly thick and tasteless in his mouth. His throat stung of acid as his gag reflex tried to reject it.

Bull’s hand cupped his elbow before moving up to stroke his upper arm. “It’s ok,” Bull murmured, “you don’t need to force yourself.”

Dorian put down his spoon with relief. But there was an odd impulse that twisted in Dorian and he felt the need to save the leftovers.

“Don’t let it go to waste,” he insisted, hating how nervous he still felt about food.

“I won’t.” Bull grabbed the bowl. “I haven’t eaten yet.”

A silence fell over them, only interrupted by Bull’s less than subtle chewing. Anxiety prickled over Dorian, knowing that he shouldn’t be overburdening Bull more than he already was. It was not the mercenary captain’s job to put up with all of Dorian’s problems. But Dorian couldn’t summon his usual charm, not when Felix’s death and Alexius’s betrayal weighed so heavily in his heart.

“Knives said you wanted to see me, before Krem talked to you,” Bull said, startling Dorian out of his thoughts. “He said you weren’t feeling well.”

Compared to everything else Dorian learned the night before, the suspicion that a Templar had searched his room was trivial. It could not be another thing he piled onto Bull. 

Dorian shook his head, “It was nothing.”

“It was enough that you came to my room in the middle of the night,” Bull countered softly.

There was no accusation in Bull’s words, but Dorian couldn’t help but flinch. 

A hand rested heavily over Dorian’s as Bull continued, “I’m not mad at you, I want you come to me when you need me. Something spooked you, sweetheart, and I need to know what it was.”

“I just frightened myself and worked myself into a state,” Dorian shrugged.

“What scared you?” Bull continued to press. 

Not wanting to annoy Bull, Dorian let out a sigh as he confessed, “I thought I saw a Templar as Riley and I were walking back from the library. But Riley didn’t see her, and it was rather dark out. I just got nervous, that’s all.”

He tried to dismiss the fear, but Bull’s frown deepened and his single eye narrowed. “Her? The one who used to be posted at your door?”

Dorian couldn’t hide his surprise at Bull’s quick and accurate conclusion, but he shook his head again in denial. “As I said, it was nothing.”

Bull opened his mouth to protest, but Dorian quickly cut him off.

“I believe Alexius is in the Western Approach.”

Bull closed his mouth, giving Dorian a second to gather his thoughts.  
 _  
The blindfold hadn’t been removed for a long time and Dorian lost all sense of time. His world was an erratic schedule of when he was fed and drugged, allowed to relieve himself, when he was dragged out of the wagon and left on the cold ground, and when he was beaten. Occasionally, he was lucid enough to understand the words being spoken around._

_“Do you really think Alexius can get that damned thing to work? I heard that it froze Lucanus and his entire squad.”_

_“Alexius said he’ll be able to get it to work with enough magical energy or blood.”_

_A swift kick was delivered to Dorian’s stomach from where he was lying prone in the mud, making him cough and sputter into his gag. He didn’t cry out or protest his treatment though, he only moaned pitifully and tried to curl away from the source of his abuse. He just wanted the pain to stop._

_“Which are you going to provide, Pavus?”_

_An ugly laugh rang out. “He’s basically a husk now. He’s going to give whatever you ask of him.”_

_Dorian squeezed his eyes shut behind the blindfold and a dark and desperate voice in his head asked if they would stop hurting him if he did what they asked. He didn’t want to hurt anymore.  
_  
Dorian swallowed, his mouth was tacky and dry. “There are ancient Tevinter ruins in the desert and there’s an artifact within that the Venatori believes Alexius can use. They think Alexius can use it to remove the Herald from time itself.”

“Do you think he can actually do that?”

“The temporal disturbances around Redcliffe and Alexius’s interference with the rebel mages suggest that it’s a very real possibility.”

Bull sucked in a sharp breath. “Well, fuck.”

“Yeah,” Dorian let out a nervous laugh and he clenched his fists as tremors suddenly ran through his fingers. _They wanted me to help,_ he added silently, unable to voice the thought. Bile climbed up his throat, but Dorian forced it down.

“I’ll pass the info on to Leliana.”

Dorian swallowed as he realized the implications of that statement. He wondered if he had just killed Alexius. He wondered what the Inquisition would do once Alexius was in their custody. Dorian was treated well, but he was actively helping the Inquisition, not trying to remove the Herald of Andraste from time. If they didn’t execute Alexius, then would the Inquisition have the Templars make him Tranquil?

The nausea from breakfast only increased and sweat began to breakout on the back of his neck, making Dorian think that something he ate was not agreeing with him. Dorian took in deep breaths to both to soothe his nausea and to try to calm himself as his heart started racing and as his head began to swim.

“Hey,” Bull was out of his seat and at Dorian’s side, his hands gripping Dorian’s shaking shoulders and pulling him upward when Dorian didn’t even realize he was listing. “Hey, let’s get you back to bed, ok? Come lie down.”

“I’m fine,” he protested, sounding entirely too faint even to his own ears, while Bull manhandled him back into bed.

“You’re having a panic attack, sweetheart,” Bull explained carefully, laying down on the mattress next to Dorian. His calloused palm cupped Dorian’s cheek. “Just relax, you’re safe here. No one is going to hurt you.”

He remembered the same feeling of breathlessness and powerlessness before when he was writing out his recollections as they poured out of his battered mind. While the panic currently paralyzed him, this time was less severe as Dorian’s magic didn’t flare out of control and he didn’t feel like he was dying. Not with Bull there. Long minutes passed with Bull petting Dorian’s hair, rubbing his back, and whispering quiet words of encouragement until Dorian finally calmed down. Even when Dorian recovered and left shaken, Bull stayed at his side for the rest of the day.

Dorian did not return to his room or the library that day. Nor did he go back the next day or the day after that. Not only did grief keep him confined to Bull’s room, but so did fear. Dorian still couldn’t shake the deep-seated worry that the Templars were waiting for him to make a wrong move or to come up with some excuse to take him into their custody. Bull’s room offered a sort of sanctuary, Dorian was convinced that the Templars would not dare come into a Qunari mercenary’s room.

At the same time, a restlessness began to settle in Dorian’s bones. He knew where Alexius was, and he was having a hard time containing his desire to confront his mentor. Felix’s death left Dorian with too many unanswered questions. Unable to act on his own, Dorian was beginning to truly feel the boundaries of his imprisonment.

He tried to busy himself. Riley was good enough to bring Dorian some changes of clothing, writing materials, and several stacks of books. Several of the books were relevant to his research, others were from his unfortunately growing collection of Tethras novels and the whole series of _Swords & Shields_.

Dorian went through the laborious task of writing to Maevaris about Felix’s fate, telling her of their friend’s rescue from the Venatori and the funeral held by the Chargers. Once that unpleasant task was done, Dorian was able to concentrate on his research in short bursts of activity before his mind wandered to Felix and Alexius. The distraction of grief became so overwhelming that Dorian found himself picking up the next book in _Swords & Shields_, its mindlessness was enough to keep Dorian occupied from his own thoughts.

And the entire time, Bull hovered around Dorian, hardly leaving the room except to fetch their meals. He busied himself with straightening up the room, setting up a little desk for Dorian to work at, putting away Dorian’s things that Riley ferried from his room, mending weapons, writing in a ledger, or doing his own reading. Bull always seemed to be within easy reach and his touches were liberal. A kiss dropped on Dorian’s forehead, his hair being tucked behind his ear, a soothing rub of his shoulders, and at night, securely wrapped in a tight embrace.

It was oddly peaceful and domestic in a way that Dorian had never experienced before. That peace was fragile though, shattering only a few days after Dorian passed the information about Alexius’s location to the mercenary captain.

Bull had disappeared for barely an hour, then returned with a grim expression fixed on his face. Bull sat down on the edge of the bed, placing himself within easy distance from Dorian was sitting at his new writing desk. Seeing the serious look Bull wore, Dorian put his work aside and gave Bull his full attention.

“Leliana was able to confirm what you remembered,” Bull started. “Alexius is stationed at some ruin in the Western Approach. There’s some other major shit going down in the area, so the boss is leaving for there soon and the Chargers will escort her out there, then they and some Inquisition soldiers will go find Alexius.”

Dorian was amazed by how quickly the Inquisition was able to collect and receive information. He realized that even though he was residing in the Inquisition’s fortress and doing research for them, that he was underestimating its capabilities. Dorian still thought of it was a fledgling movement, of random people banded together in a little town in the mountains, but he had to silently acknowledge all the time he lost at the hands of the Venatori. It made him wonder how far the Inquisition’s reach really was.

“Is the Inquisitor going to confront Alexius?”

“Nah, considering what you told us, we thought it would be best to keep her away from the crazy magister trying to remove her from time.” Bull tried to smile to lighten the mood, but Dorian didn’t feel reassured.

“Are you going with the Inquisitor and the Chargers?”

“No, the boss is taking Blackwall to deal with some Warden stuff and Krem can lead the Chargers on this. Besides, Cullen needs me here for planning some things.”

Dorian fell silent, absorbing the information and coming to only one conclusion.

“I want to go with the Chargers to find Alexius.”

Without hesitation, Bull answered with a firm, “No.”

Dorian bristled at Bull’s immediate dismissal without even hearing him out and surprised. Earlier, Dorian had convinced himself that Bull would be receptive to Dorian helping the Chargers, but now he was unpleasantly being proven wrong. He stood up from his chair and crowded into Bull’s space. With Bull sitting down and Dorian standing, he had a little advantage in height.

“Your people do not know what they will be walking into. Alexius is a powerful mage and he was manipulating time itself in Redcliffe. Maker only knows what he would have done to the Herald if Felix had not interfered. They will need me.”

“Leliana’s people have eyes on the place, she wouldn’t send the Chargers in if she didn’t think they couldn’t handle it.”

“I’m not asking to leave the Inquisition or to fight,” Dorian tried to bargain. “I only want to go with them, and I’ll return to Skyhold. I won’t even leave Cremisius or Stitches’s sight while I’m out there. But I need to be there, your men won’t get past any traps Alexius has laid without my help. I know Alexius and I know his methods.”

“No, Dorian.”

“But—”

_“No.”_

“Bull—”

Bull reached out and gripped Dorian’s shoulders, his fingers and nails digging through layers of expensive cloth. “I’m responsible for keeping you safe and I need you to stay safe. I’m not going to send you into the hands of the Venatori again.”

“If you were with me—”

“It’s not happening, sweetheart.”

Frustration burst through as Dorian pull himself out of Bull’s hands and snapped viciously, “No! Do not call me that if you are so completely unwilling to hear me out!”

“Dorian—"

“I am the only one in this Maker damned fortress that knows a single thing about Alexius,” Dorian lashed out. “I can do significantly more good out there in the field than reading old books in a dusty library! I am a fully ranked Enchanter and what do you have amongst your mercenaries? Hedge mages and self-taught apostates? They will be useless against a Tevinter magister.”

Bull gave him a weary look. “I know you’re powerful, but my men can handle this. You know this isn’t the first time we’ve fought vints.”

The word _vints_ made Dorian grit his teeth and ball up his fists. “Right. Of course. How could I forget? We’re just _vints,_ kill one and then you’ve killed them all.”

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

“Then what do you mean, Iron Bull? How many vints have you and your men killed? How many of my countrymen? Because I am telling you that Alexius is not just a mere vint.”

“And I’m telling you to have faith in the Chargers and have faith that we know what we are doing. We’ve fought the Venatori before, there was more than one Enchanter in that caravan that had you and we killed them all.” 

Dorian squeezed his eyes shut for a second, the healing burn on his side throbbed in sudden pain at the memory of the man who gave it to him. _You didn’t kill all of them. He wasn’t there._

Bull’s tone was soft and rational, cutting through Dorian’s silent torment, “I know you would be helpful and I bet you’re a kick ass battlemage, but this isn’t your fight, not this time.”

“ _Kaffas,_ are you listening to me?” Dorian raised his voice, his tattered patience at an end. “Am I speaking in Tevene or did you forget Common in the last five minutes? I am telling you that Alexius is dangerous and if you won’t be reasonable, I’ll speak to Sister Leliana directly! She will care about what happens to your men as you obviously do not! You are sending them out to be slaughtered!”

Dorian must have struck something deep as Bull’s expression crumpled under the barrage of his words. A naked sorrow Dorian had never seen before creased Bull’s features and made him instantly regret what he said, even though he didn’t understand their significance. But instead of responding to Dorian’s outburst with anger, Bull merely gathered Dorian into his arms. One hand laid heavily on his lower back and the other cradled the back of his head.

Dorian sat there in his lap, leaning limply against the Iron Bull with his head resting on a broad shoulder. He was still angry that Bull wasn’t listening to him and refused to support him, but Dorian was also too tired, too heartsick, and too needy to reject Bull’s comfort. It was a pointless fight anyway, Dorian knew he had little leverage, even the promise of providing an advantage in a battle was not going to secure Dorian’s release from Skyhold. And most importantly, the argument was not worth hurting Bull over as he did.

They sat there in heavy silence for a long time and Dorian was admittedly dozing off when Bull asked him, “Did Alexius order your kidnapping?”

The question caught Dorian off guard, waking him up instantly. It was a possibility that he had honestly never considered until that very moment. He still wasn’t sure how the Venatori found his campsite, but they seemed ready to kill him until one within their ranks intervened.

“No. No, I don’t think so,” Dorian shook his head against Bull’s shoulder. “I don’t think they had planned to take me. It appeared to be a spur of a moment decision.”

“Did he send the Venatori after you?” Bull asked.

“I …” 

He lifted his head and leaned back to look Bull, find the mercenary captain’s eye gaze hard and his lips thinned. Dorian worried that expression was directed at him, but Bull’s face softened as he looked at the mage. Dorian opened his mouth, then let it click shut. 

“I don’t know. Does it truly matter?”

“Yeah, it really does.” Bull took in a deep breath. “I wouldn’t let you go to the Western Approach even if you were at full strength. He wants you there. The Venatori weren’t going to ransom you to your family, they were taking you to him.”

Dorian let his head fall forward again, burying his face against the skin of Bull’s neck. He already knew that the Venatori weren’t going to extort money from his family, but it was nice lie to tell. It sounded nicer that the Venatori wanted gold than they thought that Dorian could help them. That they thought he could be persuaded into working for them.

“I don’t care,” Dorian’s voice trembled, and his eyes began to water, “I need to be there before the Inquisition kills Alexius. I need to know why he joined the Venatori. I need to know why he left Felix. I need to know if there is anything left of the man I admired.”

The hand on Dorian’s spine ran up and down his spine comfortingly and Bull’s chest rumbled under Dorian as he spoke, his voice deep and dark.

“I’ll have him brought to you, sweetheart, and then I’ll wring the answers out of him.”


	12. Enchanter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian meets with an Enchanter. They're both less than charmed.

The balcony Bull took Dorian to was not far from the library and overlooked Skyhold’s Great Hall. The hall below was massive, such a central part of Skyhold that Dorian had never stepped foot into and making him realize that he never received a proper tour of the fortress. He wondered if he could get one soon now that he was stronger and could walk longer without tiring. But that would have to wait until later.

Waiting for them at the balcony was an elegant woman in a glittering gown, perfect makeup, and a gaze of steel. She was standing at a set of glass doors, bathing her and her jewels in light, and making her standout even more the darkened space. In front of her was a setup of fine Orlesian furniture and a tea set waiting on a table, looking out of place in the fortress, but suited the woman perfectly.

Dorian was grateful that he took extra care in dressing that morning, knowing that he was going to meet with an Enchanter from the Circle of Magi. He was healed enough that his cosmetics hid all his fading bruises and he chose a set of blue and grey robes that didn’t emphasize the paleness of his complexion. Bull was good enough to help him tuck the loose fabric into his belt, hiding how much his robes hung off his frame. He also wore a small and tasteful selection of jewelry that Maevaris sent him, it suggested that he had restraint rather than poverty. Dorian looked exceptionally well that day and he was thankful for it.

“Lord Dorian,” the woman greeted him as they approached, “I am First Enchanter Vivienne, Court Mage to the Empire of Orlais and First Enchanter of Montsimmard.”

She gave Dorian the shallowest of curtsies and did not hold out her hand for him to kiss. The slight was communicated, but Dorian did not skimp on his bow nor its flourish. He would not be put out by rustic southern manners.

“Dorian of House Pavus, most recently of Minrathous. How do you do, madam?”

“Charmed,” she replied, but obviously was not. “I am to go with the Chargers to the Western Approach and assist them in capturing Magister Alexius, your mentor. The Iron Bull said that you wished to provide me with information on this magister.”

He didn’t want to provide a Circle mage with anything, rather he desperately wanted to go with the Chargers and deal with Alexius himself. While Dorian was glad that Bull had taken him seriously about the threat that Alexius posed, he hoped that Bull was not taken in by Enchanter Vivienne’s impressive sounding titles. From what Dorian had seen, the abilities of Circle mages could be wanting. But with his freedom restricted, he would arm the Enchanter and the Chargers with what he could.

“Alexius is my former mentor,” Dorian corrected automatically, “but I do have information that can help you in dealing with him.”

“Very good,” Enchanter Vivienne motioned to a chair. “Take a seat, my dear, and have some tea with me.” She then looked to Bull, “Iron Bull, darling, you may go. Thank you for bringing Lord Dorian.”

Bull froze, his single eye wide and almost panicked. “I was thinking I’d stay and take Dorian to Josephine’s office once you’re done. She wanted to speak to him this afternoon.”

“You left your man at the door, correct? He will be a suitable enough escort for Lord Dorian. I trust your man has enough sense to make it all the way to Josephine’s office.” Enchanter Vivienne made a shooing motion with her hand as she gracefully sat down on a velvet covered lounge.

“I’ll be fine, Bull,” Dorian added, not intimidated by the Circle mage. Bull’s uneasy expression didn’t change, and Dorian pressed, “We’re just talking, Bull, I cannot imagine you’d want to stick around. I’ll see you after my meeting with the Ambassador.”

Bull hesitated, shifting his weight from foot to foot until Enchanter Vivienne delicately cleared her throat and Dorian gave him a slight nod.

“Yeah, ok, not like I’m going to understand what you two are going to talk about anyway,” Bull grumbled at his dismissal as he disappeared down the stairs.

“Now, Lord Dorian,” Enchanter Vivienne started pouring him a cup of black Orlesian tea as Dorian sat down across from her, “tell me everything you can.”

Despite his misgivings towards a Circle mage with a couple fancy titles, Dorian found that Vivienne was sharp and knowledgeable. She wasn’t squeamish about the prospect of battle and was thoroughly educated in southern battlemage tactics as quaint as they were. Her questions were smart and pointed, not wasting her words with empty comments. The combination of her intellect and her polite coldness delighted Dorian, reminding him a bit of home. He found himself enjoying telling her about time magic.

“I know Magister Alexius was able to get to poor, gullible Fiona before the Inquisitor, but how well can this magic work if he needs an ancient artifact in a desert?” Vivienne wondered aloud after Dorian finished explaining the magic and Alexius’s use of it.

“Oh, it doesn’t work well all,” Dorian agreed. “From what I could tell in Redcliffe, the magic he was using was wildly unstable. It could be that he thought he’d the artifact could stabilize the spell, enhance it so he could attack the Inquisitor from further away since his trap didn’t work.”

Enchanter Vivienne hummed thoughtfully. “We would do well to stop such unchecked abuse of magic. It’s a pity that the Templars were unavailable to accompany us to the Western Approach.”

He made note of her apparent comfort with the Templars. “Bull has confidence in the Chargers, as do I.”

“They are an exceptionally competent mercenary company,” Vivienne admitted. “Do know, darling, that the Iron Bull asked of me to bring in your magister alive. I will do what I can, but I would not do so at the cost of any of Bull’s men.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Dorian answered honestly. “Though you may be able to bring Alexius in peacefully.”

“Oh?”

“I doubt that Alexius knows that Felix has died. Tell him that Felix is with the Inquisition, that the Blight hasn’t taken him yet and that Felix wishes to see him.” Dorian felt sick at the thought of such a deception and the devastation it would cause Alexius if he believed it. But if it could prevent the Chargers from coming to harm, then it would be worth it.

“And you believe that he would take my word on it?”

Dorian closed his eyes for a second, Felix’s smiling face coming to mind as he brought Dorian treats when he worked late in Alexius’s study. “Tell him that Felix says that he likes trouble, but not the kind his father is borrowing.”

Vivienne didn’t look convinced, as if familial ties amongst Tevinter mages meant nothing, but merely replied, “You’ve been very helpful, my dear. Now, I hope you’ll indulge me, Lord Dorian, and allow me to get to know you better.”

“While I do enjoy talking about myself, I can’t imagine what the Court Mage to the Empire of Orlais would want to know about me,” Dorian replied with mock innocence.

The Enchanter’s smile sharpened. “I like to acquaint myself with all of the mages in Skyhold, there are so few of us here. I am most curious about you, Lord Dorian, as a rare Tevinter mage eagerly willing to throw his lot in with the Inquisition. How very noble of you.”

“There is nothing noble about it, Enchanter Vivienne,” Dorian answered easily, “it’s simply the right thing to do.”

“I admire your modesty, my dear,” she said in a way that clearly indicated she did not, “but you must be aware of how it looks. Haven was attacked by the Venatori and the rebel mages, led by Corypheus, a dark spawn magister. Then not long afterwards, you were found amongst the Venatori and appeared at Skyhold.”

“I can assure you that I cannot be aware of how it looks, considering that I was unconscious when I was brought to Skyhold and for much of the journey here,” Dorian could not keep the tartness out of his voice. “I understand completely what you are getting at though. Yes, I was in the company of the Venatori, most unwillingly. They are rather ungracious hosts and I have the scars to prove it should you like the proof. And while I sought to end them before, my passion for their destruction is quite fervent now.”

“I meant no offense, my dear. One simply cannot be too careful during these chaotic times and I feel a great responsibility for the mages at Skyhold,” she replied coolly, but her tone was less hostile. Then, pouring herself another cup of tea with milk, Vivienne commented casually, “I understand that the Iron Bull is rather fond of you and you act very familiar with him.”

Something defensive rose within Dorian, making him warier than her implications of his connections to the Venatori as she shifted the topic to Bull. In that moment, Dorian realized how possessive he was over his relationship with the Iron Bull, as complicated as it was. He was aware that Bull respected Enchanter Vivienne, his asking her to go with the Chargers was proof enough of that, and he didn’t want to give her anything she could use against Dorian to make him fall out of Bull’s favor.

He humbly replied, “I am grateful for the Iron Bull’s kindness towards me.”

“And I have heard he has made you quite comfortable.”

He didn’t take her bait and blandly answered, “He is very accommodating.”

“I see,” she stirred the milk in her tea, the silver spoon clinking against the china. “The Iron Bull says that you are a helpful sort of man, providing him with information about the Venatori and doing research for the Inquisition. He is eager to singer your praises.”

“It was always my intention to help the Inquisition, the Venatori and their Elder One must be stopped,” Dorian parroted the line he had said what felt like a hundred times.

“I’m glad to hear it,” Enchanter Vivienne nodded curtly before taking a sip of her tea. “I do wonder at the Iron Bull’s attachment to a Tevinter mage,” she said as if Dorian was not right in front of her, “but you have seemed to have earned his confidence. Just remember, my dear, to keep that confidence through your good conduct. Your situation can always become less comfortable.”  
_  
The air was stale and thick with the scent of old wood. Dorian’s throat was raw from screaming and his nails were torn and bloodied. But he had given up on trying to claw his way out and concentrated on breathing, trying not to suffocate on the heavy air._

_The lid on the box suddenly shifted, bringing in bright light and fresh air. Dorian flinched away from the light, his eyes stinging terribly after being in the darkness, but he gulped desperately for the sweetness of the breeze that blew in._

_The Venatori laughed, howling in amusement at his pitiful state._

_“Remember this the next time you complain about lying on the ground, Pavus,” one of them hissed. “We can find all sorts of ways to make you less comfortable.”  
_  
Dorian managed to keep his hands still and keep himself present, like keeping his head above rough waters. “I will continue to do my best for the Inquisition, madam, as I always have.” 

“See that you do.”

Dorian rose from his chair and gave the Enchanter a bow. “I wish you and the Chargers success in the Western Approach, madam.”

“Thank you, darling.”

“Good day, Enchanter Vivienne.”

He turned and left, feeling Enchanter Vivienne’s gaze heavy upon his back, but he didn’t look back at her. Dorian let out a breath the moment he was out of the First Enchanter’s sight and the door to the balcony was shut behind him. He was nearly physically exhausted, not having to spar verbally with anyone for a long time. It made him feel almost normal.

“That bad?”

Nearly jumping at the unexpected sound of Bull’s voice, Dorian let out a breathless laugh. “Not so much. Just jabs at my reputation, it felt like old times,” Dorian answered breezily, but caught Bull’s frown. Switching topics, Dorian commented, “I’m surprised to see you here. Taking over for young Riley? He will be rather put out for being dismissed. I know how much he enjoys being my watcher.”

Bull was leaning against the wall, his mouth pulled into a smirk. “Just thought he could take the afternoon off.”

“I am beginning to think that you are my bodyguard and not the Inquisitor’s.”

The smirk became a full toothed grin. “She has me out on loan to you. Now, let’s get you over to Josephine’s office.”

Bull offered his arm and Dorian, while not so tired as to need it, took it. They went down an unfamiliar set of stairs and they came out into the Great Hall. Dorian was shocked by the amount of people mingling in the hall, their voices echoing in the tall ceiling, and the constant patter of footsteps, of messengers coming in and out, merchants trying to find the quartermaster, and nobles clamoring to speak to someone important.

It was an unpolished space with scaffolding lining the walls and Dorian spotted more than one pile of bricks in the corners. But at the end of the hall was a floor to ceiling set of stain glass windows and in front of them was the outline of a throne. The throne wasn’t large, but it made a striking silhouette in the light, drawing the eye from all other distractions.

The hall was a large space, but with all the people, the sound, the activity, it felt rather small and crowded. Usually such activity didn’t bother Dorian, but his chest began to feel tight as he looked around. He noted that beyond merchants and nobles, there were also an awful lot of Templars.

“Hey, are you doing ok, sweetheart?” Bull’s hand gripped Dorian’s arm.

“Yes, I’m fine,” Dorian nodded, getting himself out his own head. “We mustn’t keep Ambassador Montilyet waiting.”

Bull frowned but led Dorian across the hall to another door.

Sister Leliana was just leaving the room, but she paused to stop Bull. “Josephine would like to speak to Lord Pavus alone.”

“Are you kidding me?” Bull groused.

Sister Leliana narrowed her eyes at Bull, but he didn’t back down like he did with the Enchanter.

Dorian merely patted Bull’s arm. “Don’t worry about me, Bull. After Enchanter Vivienne, speaking to Lady Montilyet will be rather refreshing. Is the Ambassador free?”

The Spymaster nodded and smirked as Bull leaned against the wall with a huff.

Dorian entered the office, a spacious room with plenty of natural light and furnished almost as finely as Enchanter Vivienne’s balcony. Behind a desk was Lady Montilyet, frowning at a document in her hand before looking up to find Dorian waiting for her.

“Ah, Lord Pavus! Thank you for meeting with me. Please, take a seat,” she waved to a pair of plush armchairs in front of a crackling fireplace. Once they were both seated, the Ambassador said, “Lord Pavus, allow me to express my sympathies to you over your friend’s death. The Inquisitor told me that he was ready to help the Inquisition in foiling his own father but told her to seek out the Templars as he feared for her life. To think what might have happened to the Inquisitor without Lord Alexius’s intervention.”

Dorian knew she was being sincere, but it rang hollow in his heart. “Thank you.” 

“I would be pleased to make arrangements with a Chantry Mother to hold a service for Lord Alexius. It is the least we could do for such a brave young man.”

Dorian was repulsed to think of sitting in an empty Chantry with a southern Chantry Mother, who would have little love for Tevinter, talk about Felix. It would be a mockery of Felix’s memory, serving only to please Dorian and by extension, Maevaris, who was continuing to supply information and resources to the Inquisition. 

He forced a smile. “That is a very kind offer, Ambassador, but I will respectfully decline. I am thoroughly gratified by the funeral held by Lieutenant Aclassi and the Chargers, another one will not be necessary. Felix was not one for such excess in ceremony.”

“Very well but do tell me if you change your mind.”

“Of course. I would like to be able to make a visit to Felix’s grave though. I’ve been told it’s at the foot of the Frostbacks, Lieutenant Aclassi said that he knows exactly where it is and said it would be no trouble to take me after he returns from his next mission.”

Lady Montilyet hesitated. “A reasonable request, Lord Pavus, however we will need to consider the risks to you very carefully before planning such an excursion.”

“I see.” He understood perfectly well. Then turning to a more delicate matter, Dorian said, “I would be grateful if the Chargers were compensated accordingly for their kindness to my friend. I have no direct access to coin myself at the present,” he nearly blushed at the admission, “but Magister Tilani wrote to me and said she would provide some gold for the Chargers. I had rather hoped that the Chargers might receive it before they depart again, however it is beginning to look like that will not be the case.”

“We will of course provide the Chargers with a bonus on their contact before they head out,” the Ambassador replied easily. “It is the least we could do under the circumstances.”

“Thank you.” Dorian was instantly both relieved and humiliated. “I will ask that Maevaris send you more of those Carastian candies that you enjoy.”

“Well, if you insist, Lord Pavus,” Lady Montilyet answered happily. Her smile slid away as she said, “I have been told about your request to go to the Western Approach to confront Magister Alexius.”

Dorian stilled.

“While I may be able to arrange a visit to Lord Alexius’s grave, we both know that the Inquisition simply cannot allow you to go to the Western Approach, especially in your current state of health and the risk the Venatori pose to you personally. We are only thinking of your safety. Do be assured that the Inquisition is taking this matter seriously and we will do all we can to stop Magister Alexius.”

“Of course, Lady Montilyet,” Dorian answered pleasantly. He had spent a long time crying on Bull’s shoulder the other night over the matter and was admittedly still irrationally a little angry at Bull and the Inquisition. “I cannot say that I am happy to remain here, but I completely understand.”

He did. He understood his position.

“Good, I am sure it goes without saying that the Chargers are an excellent and dependable company, and Enchanter Vivienne is a powerful mage.” Then the Ambassador shifted in her seat, her brow creased in just the slightest bit. “I have an unrelated matter in which to discuss, if you have the time.”

“For you, Lady Ambassador, always.”

She gave him a small smile. “Excellent. I wanted to make sure that you have not been harassed by the Templars. The Iron Bull brought up some concerns to Commander Cullen.”  
_  
I’m certain that a Templar searched my room and read my letters. I’m certain that your First Enchanter is looking for an excuse to rat me out to the Templars. I’m afraid to return to my room. I’m afraid the Templars will lie and take me into their custody. I’m afraid they’ll put me somewhere dark and cold.  
_  
“No Templar has approached me,” Dorian answered honestly.

“Good, I will ensure it remains that way,” the Ambassador nodded. “Our Templars have conducted themselves honorably, but I understand that old prejudices are hard to let go of.”

Dorian couldn’t even muster a smile and merely made a vague noise of agreement.

“I also wanted to speak to you about your current quarters,” Lady Montilyet continued. “The Iron Bull spoke to me about his dissatisfaction over the security of your room and insisted you be relocated. I admit that your quarters are not ideally situated. Commander Cullen was being … overly cautious when you came to us, but I am determined to remedy this oversight. I have secured a room near the garden more befitting of a lord of your standing. I will have your belongings moved there today.”

Disappointment bit bitterly into Dorian, realizing that he had outstayed his welcome in Bull’s room. Bull had not asked for an impromptu roommate and Dorian was sure that the mercenary was desiring privacy and maybe even a new bed partner by now. He had only wished that Bull had told him directly instead of making it a diplomatic situation with the Ambassador. 

Despite his disappointment, Dorian knew he could not stay in Bull’s room forever and a new room might set him up better, especially if it was situated closer to the library. Then he remembered looking down from the ramparts at a courtyard filled with lush vegetation and seeing it crawling with Templars.

“I am flattered by the offer,” Dorian treaded carefully, “but you needn’t trouble yourself. I am quite content with my current situation and security. I admit to lingering in the Iron Bull’s room for far too long, he has been overly accommodating as I’ve been grieving, but I can understand that he needs his space. I’ll return to my quarters immediately.”

“Needs his space?” The Ambassador nearly snorted with laughter before catching herself. “Lord Pavus, the Iron Bull had the audacious idea of having you situated in his room permanently. He was rather insistent upon it. I have seen his room and it is hardly fit for him, let alone a distinguished guest of the Inquisition.”

The disappointment fell away, and Dorian was instantly excited, though he tried to tamp it down as he replied, “Well, he has cleaned it up a bit and most of the furniture is upright. It’s almost charming now that Bull has removed most of the cobwebs.”

Lady Montilyet nearly startled. “Oh, Lord Pavus, you must be joking! There is no way I could put you in the Iron Bull’s room and then write to Magister Tilani to tell her that you are being taken care of.”

“If the Iron Bull does not object, if he _insists_ , I can hardly think of a more secure place for me to be,” Dorian observed.

The Ambassador’s lovely dark complexion suddenly paled. “You cannot be serious, Lord Pavus.”

Dorian only grinned.

The Iron Bull was still waiting patiently after Dorian finished speaking with the Ambassador. Dorian gave him a small smile and took Bull’s offered arm.

“As you can see, I am unharmed by the Ambassador.”

“Yeah, I know you handle yourself,” Bull gave him a wry chuckle. “Did you want to go to the library?”

For the first time, Dorian hesitated about going to the library. He should get back to work, earn his keep after days of wallowing. But instead he said, “I would like to go somewhere I haven’t been before.” 

The Iron Bull gave him a wide grin. “I’ve got just the place.”

Bull took him outside to the grounds and they crossed into a building with the sign _Herald’s Rest_ hanging over the door. Once inside, Dorian knew where he was.

“This is the tavern!”

Other than his honeyed wine, Dorian hadn’t had a drink in ages, and he was desperate for one. The tavern was mostly empty, but at the back of the room there was a gathering of an odd group of people. Elves, humans, and dwarves armed with drinks were chatting enthusiastically amongst themselves. The longer Dorian looked at the them, the more familiar some of them looked until he realized that it was some of the Chargers.

The group cheered at their approach and one scarred dwarf held up his mug of frothy beer, all but shouted, “It’s the Chief and sweetheart!”

Dorian back peddled at the odd familiarity that the dwarf addressed him with, bewildered as many of the others also greeted him as sweetheart. Looking at the scarred dwarf, Dorian asked in confusion, “What did you call me?”

Cremisius appeared at Dorian’s side as he explained, “It’s the Chief’s nickname for you.”

“What!?”

His countryman shrugged. “You wouldn’t give him your name and he had to call you something. It’s a little different from the nicknames the Chief usually gives, but we’re all used to it now.”

Dorian was incensed, his cheeks heating up in equal parts embarrassment and flattery at the thought of Bull casually referring to him as _sweetheart,_ to his men. “I know for a fact that he knew who I was before I gave him my name!”

“That’s not what he said.”

Dorian whipped his head around to glare at the Iron Bull.

“Ugh, way to go, Krem,” Bull growled, rubbing at his face. “He just stopped being mad at me!”

“My nickname,” Dorian repeated with disbelief, “is sweetheart.”

“Yeah,” Bull defended himself with a shrug, “because, you know, you’re real sweet.”

“Better take it, Lord Dorian,” Cremisius told him, “it can always get a lot worse. Let me go get you a drink.”

While the Great Hall had felt small with all the people, almost suffocating, Dorian didn’t feel that way sitting with the Chargers in a more confined room. Bull sat on one side of him and Cremisius on the other, with Stitches across from him, keeping an eye on Dorian’s drink and threatening anyone for trying to refill it.

The members Dorian hadn’t met, or couldn’t remember, were curious about him and he was happy to share some of the more outlandish tales about his past and his homeland. But as the tavern began to fill up, Dorian found himself talking less and letting the Chargers takeover the conversation. His eyes went to the door every time someone came in and he counted every Templar he saw.

None of the Templars failed to spot Dorian, but they also didn’t fail to see the giant Qunari next to him and they all kept their distance.

Bull’s hand rested on the small of Dorian’s back, his words soft and reassuring. “Don’t worry about them, you’ve got every right to be here. Just enjoy yourself.”

Dorian managed a smile and returned his focus to the group around him. They were easy to talk to, immediately bringing Dorian into their fold, and once he ignored the Templars, Dorian truly enjoyed himself. 

He reflected on how much the group had done for him. The Chargers had saved Dorian, kept him alive, and brought him to Skyhold. They rescued Felix, gave him some peace and comfort before he died. And now they were about to head out again to stop Alexius for Dorian.

Dorian blinked.

No, not for him. They were a mercenary company employed by the Inquisition. They were merely going whichever direction the Inquisition pointed them in. Just because the company was made up of good and decent people did not mean they were doing any of this as a favor to Dorian. It was a transaction, one that Dorian shamefully couldn’t even put up the gold for.

Transaction or not, he didn’t want anything to happen to the Chargers and he just had to trust that Bull’s Enchanter friend would help to keep them safe. 

Cremisius returned to seat after visiting the bar, quickly tipping some of his beer into Dorian’s mug when Stitches’s back was turned. Then, as if reading Dorian’s mind, he placed his hand on Dorian’s shoulder, “The Chief said you were concerned about our mission, but don’t worry about us, Lord Dorian. We’re the best mercenary company this side of the Anderfels.”

Dorian gave him a nod. “I’ll try not to, but I would feel better going with you than being locked up here.”

“I think we’d rather have you than Madame de Fer,” Cremisius snorted. “Come train with us when we get back. Stitches said you’ll need to start building up your strength. Could always use another experienced battlemage in the rotation too.”

Dorian’s eyes quickly slid over to Bull, who was too busy in a good-natured argument with a Dalish elf about archery to notice Cremisius’s offer. Turning back to Cremisius, Dorian gave him a brilliant grin.

“It’s a date, Lieutenant Aclassi.”

Bull walked Dorian up to the room after dinner, guiding him up through the second floor and attic of the tavern. A small shiver ran through Dorian as they walked through the attic.

“I’ll get the fire up and going for you,” Bull promised as he rubbed his hand over Dorian’s arm.

The cold wasn’t why Dorian shivered, but he didn’t say anything as they stepped into Bull’s quarters and for a second time, Dorian found that someone had been in the room he was occupying. Though his feelings about it were drastically different.

The room was thoroughly cleaned, all the debris was cleared and there wasn’t a cobweb in sight. The gaping hole in the ceiling was patched and the broken furniture and windows were replaced. The ax buried in the footboard of the bed was gone and its mark was hardly visible. A proper desk was added, along with a second bed behind a screen, and a wardrobe. An armchair sat in front of the fireplace with a simple woven rug underneath. From Dorian’s room was his trunk with his belongings and his copper tub. 

While it was nowhere near the stately room Ambassador Montilyet was probably imagining, it was a vast improvement and the space looked suitable for a mercenary captain. But Dorian was alarmed to find that Bull looked put out.

“The Ambassador spoke to me about my accommodations,” Dorian explained guiltily, “but I didn’t think she’d do anything so soon and without getting your approval first.”

“It’s not that,” Bull all but pouted, “I just thought I did a good job cleaning up the place for you.”


	13. Ghost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian makes a couple new acquaintances. One he met before, but doesn't remember.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone is doing well and I hope this provides a little distraction!

The concentration to work eluded Dorian. He returned to the library, ending his time sequestered in Bull’s room where he withdrew for safety and to grieve. But the space did not function well to do research. Not that he didn’t appreciate Lady Montilyet’s efforts to make the room livable, but Bull had the habit of coming in at random times and kissing Dorian’s neck until he could be persuaded to relocate to the bed. 

But even the scholarly atmosphere of the library couldn’t hold Dorian’s focus. He found himself rereading the same sentences multiple times and the pen in his hand refused to move, having nothing in his head to note. Instead, Dorian’s mind wandered to his regret over opening his mouth about Alexius’s location. What were the chances that Alexius could actually remove the Herald from time itself, especially all the way from the Western Approach? Did he send the Chargers into danger on a fool’s errand? Did he doom his former mentor to imprisonment, execution, or worse?  
_  
“He wanted to hurt you.”  
_  
Dorian lifted his head from his book at a soft whisper and a familiar voice in his ear. But there was no one in the alcove other than Riley, who was starting on _The Tale of the Champion_. Letting out a sigh, Dorian leaned towards the wall and window, his gaze fixing out on the empty training yard. The Chargers often practiced in the afternoon and Dorian could sometimes see them if no other groups were in the yard.

The Chargers had left with the Inquisitor several days earlier and life returned to its boring rhythm with them gone from Skyhold. Dorian was just beginning to know the company and the budding hero worship within him blossomed into something akin to friendship. More than once Dorian joined them in the tavern and the Chargers seemed especially cheerful and willing to buy rounds of drinks when Lady Montilyet provided them with the bonus Dorian requested.

He hoped they would all come back ok, even the First Enchanter.

Riley noticed Dorian’s listlessness and chewed on his lip. “Um, are you ok, Lord Dorian? Did you need another book?”

“I’m fine, Riley. I’m just thinking about how cozy my current imprisonment is compared to anything Alexius will experience.”

The young mercenary’s eyes widened, and his body stiffened. “Wh-what? But you’re not a prisoner, Lord Dorian! You’re the Inquisition’s honored guest! That’s what the Lady Ambassador says. Why would you think that you’re a prisoner? You’re not in a dungeon.”

Dorian just press his forehead against the cold glass of the window. He wanted to confront Alexius. He wanted fight the Venatori. He wanted to visit Felix’s grave. It didn’t matter what he wanted though, he was met with refusals and gentle empty promises.

“Lord Dorian?”

“Don’t mind me, Riley, I’m just chaffing at the restrictions on my freedom.”

“I know you wanted to go with the Chargers,” Riley was sympathetic, “but the Chief said that it’s probably a trap. The Venatori want you there, and besides, you’re still hurt.”

He was no longer such pain that Dorian couldn’t sling fire and lightning or provide barriers and support. Nor was he so injured that Stitches was still glued to his side, having left with the Chargers after giving Bull instructions about what potions to give Dorian each day. It was tidy and convenient excuse though. At the very least, Dorian knew his young guard fully believed that Dorian was too sick and wounded to fight and that prisoners were kept in dungeons.

“You wanted to go with them too,” Dorian observed sullenly.

“Only because Krem said that the magister was responsible for your kidnapping,” Riley replied with a sudden burst of passion. “But I’m needed here with you, so that’s ok. I think the Chief wanted to go too, but Krem said you wanted the magister alive.”

Dorian was glad that Bull didn’t leave with the Chargers and Enchanter Vivienne, Bull provided Dorian with a sense of security that no one else could. But he worried that Bull was damaging his own standing with the Inquisition by neglecting his role as the Inquisitor’s bodyguard. Though perhaps the information Dorian was able to provide was really that valuable, and that flattering Dorian and keeping him safe from the Templars was that much more profitable for the mercenary.

Riley shifted in his seat uncomfortably. “You know, Lady Sera said … She, ah, she told me …”

Dorian pulled away from the window and gave Riley an expectant look.

“Um, Lady Sera said I should, uh, stick my finger in your ear if you frowned too much. But I won’t. But I thought you should know, because you’re frowning too much. Also, she might do it to you.”

An unexpected laugh bubbled up, suddenly breaking the melancholy that was building within him, and Dorian just shook his head. “Of course, she did.” He gave the young mercenary a wry smile, “Well, while I doubt that she meant to motivate me to do more research, it won’t do to keep moping about, will it? What is done is done.”

“I guess so, Lord Dorian.”

“Why don’t you go fetch us tea?” Dorian suggested, more for the mercenary’s sake than for his own. “I’m a bit famished and we still have some time before dinner.”

“Right,” the young mercenary nodded and swung his head around to survey the area. “Will you be ok on your own for a moment?”

“Yes.” Dorian fought the urge to roll his eyes. “Now go before the kitchen runs out of those little scones I like.”

As always, Riley ran to his next location, scurrying to carry out his task. Dorian turned back to his books, making real progress until he found that he was no longer alone.

In Riley’s absence, a sturdy looking Fereldan approached the alcove. He was dressed plainly in trousers and a tunic, and only had a dagger at his belt. He wasn’t a regular in the library though and Dorian had taken note of his occasional presence in the last few days, hiding behind nearby shelves. It didn’t escape Dorian that the man was out of sight before and came to him the movement Riley had left.

Dorian made a show of looking up from his work and leaning back in the armchair as he said crossly, “Yes?”

“I beg your pardon, my lord,” the man said graciously before bowing, “I apologize for not introducing myself earlier, Lord Pavus, I’m Knight-Templar Delrin Barris.”

The word Templar made the hair on the back of Dorian’s neck standup and caused a light sweat to breakout across his skin. He desperately wished that Riley would appear but knew that the trip to the kitchen would take some time. But Dorian was Tevinter bred and didn’t tip his hand or show any weakness.

“I see I need to give no introduction on my part,” Dorian replied coolly.

“As one of the temporary leaders of the Order, I was made aware of your arrival at Skyhold. You were initially under our care before Commander Cullen made the change,” the Templar explained needlessly as he took Riley’s seat.

“Care?” Dorian snorted. “Yes, I do believe the Templar at my door was most worried about my health with all of her shouting and bidding me to my feet in her presence.”

The Templar frowned, but there was no anger on his strong features. “I’m sorry, I regret assigning her as your guard. She wasn’t ready for the responsibility so soon after the attack on Haven.”

“You may want to inform her that she was dismissed as she seemed quite comfortable with inviting herself into my room and rummaging through my possessions.” Dorian couldn’t keep the ice out of his voice, and he would not have been surprised if the chill in the room was from his own ambient magic as he spilled out his grievances. “Not that I can blame her. How devious of me to sneak into Skyhold half dead, unconscious, and surrounded by southern Templars.”

“Nothing like this will happen again, I promise.” Barris didn’t deny Dorian’s claim and hardly blinked at Dorian’s anger.

“Well now, I certainly feel secure from Templar harassment,” sarcasm was thick in his voice. “It’s been a dubious pleasure, Knight-Templar Barris.” He shooed the Templar away with a careless wave of his hand.

The young man didn’t budge from his seat and decided to speak plainly. “I am concerned about the Iron Bull.”

The ice in Dorian’s heart turned into a furious blaze. “Right, because there is no way that he could care for a Tevinter mage. What must you think? That I have him under my thrall? That I plan to use him as a blood sacrifice?”

Barris’s expression remained unflinching and in a soft and appallingly caring tone, said, “I am concerned that a vulnerable mage is close to a man rumored to be a Qunari spy. Not that I believe you’d be converted to the Qun, mind you, but it does put you at great risk.”

Dorian reeled at the accusation, but given his treatment as a Tevinter mage, he wasn’t surprised at the Templar’s gall at repeating rumors. Still, to have a leader of the Templar Order spread such lies was offensive. The Iron Bull was the Inquisitor’s bodyguard and someone with that kind of access had to be well vetted. He simply refused to believe that Sister Leliana would let a spy so close to the Herald.

“Attacking the only person to give a damn about me in this fortress? What great care you take with your charges! I am shocked that the Circles crumbled,” Dorian seethed. 

“I wouldn’t come to you over idle rumors.”

“Perhaps your Templars might be better at their duties if the Order was not so gullible then,” Dorian lashed out, infuriated by the Templar’s calm and almost reasonable tone. “Your concern is noted, Knight-Templar, and completely unnecessary and unwelcomed.”

“I hope it’s a needless worry,” Barris’s voice was filled with what could only be feigned sympathy, “but I want you to know that you can come to me should you need to. I don’t know what you’ve been told about Templars, but it is our duty to protect mages.”

“I would rather die than put myself in Templar protection,” he hissed.

A shadow fell over them as Riley returned, standing at the alcove. Riley’s face was blotchy from a deep flush that kept down his neck and his lips were pressed in a thin, hard line. He stood at his full height and while his wiry frame didn’t make him look too impressive, his gaze would’ve set a fire if he were a mage. The young man might have looked somewhat intimidating if he had not been holding a tray with a tea set of soft pink china and little pastel colored cakes.

“Ser Barris,” the young mercenary said, his voice wavering for only a second, “I respectfully think you should leave.”

The Templar was not offended, if anything, he appeared ruefully amused. “Very well.” He stood up and gave a shallow bow to Dorian. “Thank you for your time, Lord Pavus. Please think about what I said.”

Dorian’s hands burned with his magic. Despite his fine control over his abilities, he struggled with tampering down his outrage.

“Lord Dorian?”

Standing from his armchair, Dorian swiftly gathered his books and papers with shaking fingers as he announced, “I suppose we’ll have to conclude our work in the Iron Bull’s room tonight.”

The library, which held a respite of sanctuary and distraction for Dorian, was now thoroughly tainted by the Templar’s presence. His fury tangled with sickening fear when he realized that he didn’t know when it would be safe to return. Tears of frustration threatened to emerge, but he rallied himself. He was caught off guard by the Venatori, but he would not be unprepared for the Templars.  
_  
“He wanted to help, but he doesn’t understand that it only hurts you more.”  
_  
Dorian startled and his head whipped around to only find Riley blinking at him. He sighed wearily, “It’s been an afternoon.”

“Yeah, let’s go back,” Riley agreed shakily, setting down the tea tray on a table. “You rest and I’ll go find the Chief. Stumbles will guard the door for you.”

The prospect of a hedge mage not quite talented enough to go with the Chargers on dangerous missions, and nicknamed _Stumbles_ , did not inspire confidence in Dorian, but he didn’t argue with his guard. Riley offered his arm as always and for the first time in over week, Dorian took it. Now that Barris was out of sight, Dorian was still furious but drained.

The young mercenary escorted Dorian back to Bull’s room and left to find his captain after Stumbles took up the post at the door. The moment he was alone, Dorian dropped his papers and books on the desk, shucked off the outer layers of his clothes, and collapsed on the bed. He cocooned himself in the blankets and sheets and lit the fireplace with his magic to ward off the chill in his bones.

Long minutes passed as Dorian laid there, stretching into nearly an hour, and Riley had yet to return with Bull. Closing his eyes, Dorian let out a heavy sigh. With the Chargers and the Inquisitor gone, there were only so many places Bull could be. Perhaps Riley couldn’t find the Iron Bull because the mercenary had retreated to someone else’s bed while he thought Dorian was in the library, needing a break from the problems that trailed Dorian.

“No, you’re thinking about it wrong. Finally got into Cullen’s office, bracing hands on the desk, leaning forward, make the posture as menacing as possible. It won’t intimidate Cullen, but he’ll know I’m serious. _‘Keep the Templars away from Dorian or you won’t like what I am going to do.’_ The Iron Bull wants to keep you safe.”

Dorian’s entire body jerked at the voice. He sat up, one hand clutching onto the covers and holding them to his chest, and the other was clenched in a fist and crackling with fire. He immediately found a young man sitting at the foot of the bed, his legs crossed with his hands steadied on his knees, and his head bowed with a pale face peeking out from under the wide brim of a hat.

Dorian scrambled away, his back and head hitting the headboard with an audible thud. He was sure he had seen that face and heard that voice before.

“You’re the ghost,” Dorian whispered, fire still in his fist.

“Sometimes. I’m Cole. We’ve talked before, but I made you forget. I shouldn’t have made you forget,” the ghost said mournfully, “it hurts you when you can’t remember.”

“You’re a demon?”

“No,” the ghost said firmly but not unkindly. “I help.”

“A spirit then.”

“It doesn’t matter what I am, only that I help.” Cole lifted his head up further, revealing pale blue eyes. “The Iron Bull wants to help too. He keeps those who want to hurt you away, the ones who’d shut you away. _‘I can’t believe we let a blood mage roam free. I’ll find proof and then Barris will have to believe me.’_ ” The ghost pitched his voice higher, imitating the tone and the spite of Dorian’s former Templar guard.

The fire in Dorian’s hand sputtered out. “Is that the Templar guard? The one that broke into my room?”

“She still sees the demons climbing out of the blood on the stones when the Circle fell, it makes her scared. But she won’t come after you here, the Iron Bull scares her more.”

A harried laugh escaped from Dorian. “I find your reassurances more trustworthy than Barris’s.”

“He isn’t like the bad Templars. He wants to help, but he doesn’t know how to approach you.”

“No, he doesn’t,” Dorian retorted, his earlier anger stirring again. “I won’t let him drive me away from Bull with his lies.”

And he couldn’t let the Templar drive Bull away from him. Dorian couldn’t stop the Templar from speaking to the mercenary captain, but he could continue to prove his worth.

As if reading Dorian’s thoughts, the ghost shook his head in denial. “You’re thinking about it wrong again. You think you’re hollow, that the Venatori carved everything good out of you, so you give the Iron Bull the bits that hurt so he can use them. You don’t need to, there’s still a lot of good in you. The Iron Bull is using you, but he doesn’t use the bits that hurt.”

“What?”

“He sees a strong man, but fragile, nearly pulled apart by the Venatori, holding together by strings. If the Iron Bull can be soft and gentle, if he can hold you together, then he can prove that he won’t go mad.”

“Why would Bull think he’s going mad?” Dorian asked, confused.

“Hissrad died when the dreadnaught exploded, and the Iron Bull is afraid without him. He thinks he’s a broken tool and that being the Iron Bull isn’t enough. He’s less afraid when he’s with you though, because then he’s not just a broken thing, he’s the Iron Bull.”

Dorian was hopelessly lost, but he also felt like he shouldn’t be hearing the nonsense of the ghost was spouting. There was so little he knew about the Iron Bull that he couldn’t understand anything the ghost was cryptically referencing. 

“I … don’t follow.”

“I’m not doing it right,” the young man shook his head, “but I won’t make you forget again.”

“Yes, please don’t do that.” Dorian then asked, “Are you the reason why I can’t remember everything from when I was kidnapped?”

“No,” Cole denied. “I shake the pearl lose, let it heal, but I don’t take it from you. You don’t remember because you’re not ready to. Let them lie there. Don’t force them out like you have.”

“It’s important that I remember,” he insisted as panic began to prickle along his skin. He didn’t want to give the ghost a reason to reconsider taking his memories. “My memories help Bull and the Inquisition.”

“No, you’re tearing at it, ripping the wounds wider and making them bleed. You’re back in the dark, cold, cut off from the Fade. The Iron Bull doesn’t need that from you, he doesn’t want you to hurt.”

Dorian opened his mouth to ask more questions. To ask about what did Bull need from him? What was Bull using him for if not for information? Why did Bull think he was going mad? Who was Hissrad? But let his jaw click shut at a sound coming from outside. There were voices beyond the door, one sounding like Bull’s deep rumble. 

Cole twisted his head towards the door, murmuring, “I’m not supposed to be here, but you’re very loud now that you’re closer.”

Dorian nearly took offense. He didn’t think he was particularly loud, but then he remembered that morning when he woke up wrapped around Bull and his arousal burned pleasantly in his stomach. If Riley’s blush that morning was anything to go by, Dorian had not been quiet.

“My apologies.”

“It’s not your fault,” Cole replied. “It’s _his_ fault. But he got away, he left before the Iron Bull’s blade cut everyone down.”

Dorian swallowed and his voice came out faint as he rasped, “Yes, he did.”

Cole’s tone turned dark and quiet as he promised, “If I see him, he will _not_ get away.”

Before Dorian’s very eyes the ghost vanished as Bull stepped into the room. His single eye widened at Dorian, who was still pressed against the headboard and holding the covers close like a child scared in the dark.

“Are you ok, sweetheart?” Bull asked slowly.

“Just …” Dorian hesitated. “I was napping and must have had a nightmare. I don’t really recall.”

He relaxed his juvenile posture and let the blankets drop as Bull crossed the room and sat down on the mattress next to him. Bull’s hand reached out to cup his chin, fingertips brushing against Dorian’s cheeks.

“I know it’s not your fault that Barris approached you, but next time send a servant to get tea. There’s a reason why I have Knives with you,” Bull chastised him lightly, his grin tired. He pressed a soft kiss on the corner of Dorian’s mouth. “Or I’m going to have to take Knives’s place.”

Dorian leaned into Bull’s space and took in a deep breath. Bull only smelled of himself, of musk, leather, and metal, not of anyone else. His muscles relaxed at that thought.

“You’re not giving me much incentive to behave.”

Bull’s tired grin showed more life as he pulled Dorian onto his lap, one large hand resting right above Dorian’s ass as the other tangled itself in his dark hair. “Your incentive is access to your books. If I take Knives’s place and never leave your side, then you’re never going to make it out of bed. And even if you do, I’m going to get bored in the library and I’m going to have you right there.”

Dorian let out a delighted laugh. “As I said, you’re not giving me of an incentive.”

He gripped Bull’s horns, pulling him close for a searing kiss before Bull lowered him onto the bed with great care.

Dorian knew he should tell Bull about Cole. About all the strange things that were rattled off to Dorian that he didn’t understand but felt deeply personal. He should tell Bull to give him a chance to explain and reveal something about himself. It seemed only fair considering how exposed Dorian constantly felt around Bull.

But as Bull draped his body over his own and looked down at him with affection, Dorian didn’t need to know all the details of the Iron Bull’s past or how he was using Dorian. Frankly, he didn’t want to know and pull away the lovely illusion draped over him. The illusion that Bull wasn’t profiting off him in some way and that his tender care didn’t come from pity over Dorian’s condition. Dorian knew that it was too late to save himself from the allure of that pretty veil and that he was already nearly in love with the mercenary captain.  
__  
“You’re thinking about it wrong again.”  



	14. Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian waits.

The desert sun was hot on Dorian back, his light cloak doing little to protect him from its harsh rays, and the wind was as refreshing as standing in front of an open oven. Bits of sand pelted his exposed flesh, stinging skin cracked from the dry conditions, and it made his horse whine in protest, but she kept moving forward.

Despite the instinct to duck his head, Dorian tilted his face upward and his eyes scanned the sky. He had seen a high dragon the previous week, landing upon one of the outcroppings of stone amongst the hills of sand, roaring before she took flight again and disappeared into the north. He kept his eye out for her and wondered where she was nesting. He wondered if Captain Rylen would request that the Inquisition send someone to slay her.

He didn’t see the high dragon, but he did catch sight of a tall set of gates looming at the end of the path. 

“Home sweet home,” Captain Rylen announced as the party slowed to a stop. “I thank you again, Lord Pavus, your help was invaluable.”

“I regret that I am not so talented in healing,” Dorian replied grimly as he dismounted from his horse. “I couldn’t do much for your scout’s leg.”

“She’ll probably limp, but she’ll live to have one,” Rylen replied easily. “You did good work on making sure the wyvern’s venom didn’t reach her heart.”

“I do what I can, I hope her recovery goes smoothly. Thank you for the escort, Captain, until next time.”

Rylen and his men moved on as Dorian undid the magic lock on the gates that led into a small courtyard. It was tight area sheltered by the walls of an ancient Tevinter ruin and the surrounding landscape. Captain Rylen’s soldiers were good enough to build proper gates that Dorian reinforced with magic to keep the entrance into the ruins well protected from bandits and wildlife. It made the ruin quite secure and utterly isolated.

He led his horse inside before relocking the doors behind him and brought her to the makeshift stable, a lean-to built against a wall.

“There you go,” Dorian murmured to the horse as he brushed her down after giving her water and feed. “You’ll have a good rest for a while. No plans for exploring this week.”

A loud grumble from his stomach told him that he was ready for his own meal and rest. He looked forward to some hot food and an afternoon nap, but his plans were dashed as he approached the ruin that served as his home. The heavy, solid doors to the building were slightly ajar and Dorian knew that he did not leave them so before he departed to Griffon Wing Keep the other day. He hoped a creature had not made its way into his camp, though the alternative was not much more promising.

Letting out a sigh and unslinging his staff from his back, Dorian walked carefully towards the building. Along the way, he noted a set of boot prints pressed into the sand that were smaller than his own and fresh enough that they had not been obscured by the wind. Despite the heavy thud of his heartbeat, Dorian’s steps were silent against the ground as he made his approach. The door hinges were well oiled, so they hardly made a sound as he pushed one of them open enough to slide inside.

Unsure of what to expect, Dorian threw up a barrier and readied a Horror spell, magic racing down his arm and into his staff. But he stopped short of casting when he caught sight of a young Tevinter man hovering by Dorian’s permanent campsite just off the entryway. He wasn’t Venatori nor Imperium army and was instead dressed in the muted tones of a mercenary.

The young man noticed he was no longer alone and spun around on his heels, sword and shield at the ready.

Dorian’s heart immediately leapt into his throat.

“Cremisius?”

Relief filled the darkest corners of his soul at the sight of Cremisius’s handsome face illuminated by the sunlight filtering in through a hole in the ceiling. He was waiting patiently for this day, unsure if it would ever arrive. At times, it felt like only the hope of this day kept him going. The hope that Dorian would be able to right the wrong he brought upon Cremisius, the Iron Bull, and the Chargers.

“Lord Dorian!” Cremisius nearly jumped, his eyes wide as saucers. “What are you doing here? How did you get out to the Western Approach?”

He ached to embrace Cremisius, even though the other man could hardly know what for. Instead, a small smile spread across Dorian’s lips as he lowered his staff. “I’ve been here for a while now, waiting for you.”

Cremisius took a step forward, his eyes roaming the ancient, hollow building. “Where is everyone?” his words were soft in wonder. “We were fighting Magister Alexius and he cast a spell. Madame Vivienne’s barrier was down, and I stepped in front of her … That was hardly five minutes ago, and everyone is gone. What happened?”

“That fight happened over a year ago,” Dorian corrected. “Closer to a year and a half, I believe.”

“What!?” Cremisius’s voice cracked in sharp surprise, the sound echoing in the vast empty space.

“It appears you were sent forward in time, thankfully not too far forward. I’m glad to see that Alexius’s hypothesis was correct on that front.” Dorian snorted before giving Cremisius a bow. “Allow me to be the first to welcome you to the future, Lieutenant Aclassi.” 

“Over a year?” Cremisius sounded faint as his cheeks became increasingly pale.

“Do take a seat,” Dorian waved to one of the chairs he scavenged from the depths of the ruins, “before you collapse from the shock of it all.”

Taking a few steps, Cremisius dropped his sword and shield to the ground and he sat down hard in a chair, his heavy armor making the old piece of furniture creak dangerously. Dorian put his weapon away and grabbed the water pitcher from his little kitchen area, pouring a cup of water and chilling it with magic before bringing it to his dazed countryman. Cremisius took it gratefully and consumed the water in a couple long swallows.

“Forgive the state of my abode,” Dorian gestured to his meager camp, “I don’t entertain much.”

Cremisius twisted his head around, looking about him. Dorian’s camp was a simple canvas tent with his bedroll and clothes, a table and a couple of chairs made up his study, a few crates and barrels held his supply cache, and a fire pit, pot, and some dishes served as his kitchen. Books and papers littered the whole camp, cluttering every available surface and stacks of books and scrolls sat upon the ground. The only sliver of luxury in the space was a copper bathtub and fancy shaving kit. 

“What happened?” Cremisius repeated breathlessly. 

“Alexius sent you forward in time,” Dorian explained. “From what Madame Vivienne said, Alexius attacked her, and she tried to counter his spell and it went wild, but you were caught in the middle. Officially, you’re dead, we had a memorial service and there were talks about a statue, the sketches made you look very heroic and taller. But Alexius suspected that he didn’t kill you, rather just moved you somewhere else in time.”

“This is too crazy. Maker, I’m from Tevinter and this too bizarre for me to believe. This sounds like something that would happen to the Inquisitor, not me,” the mercenary moaned, his hand covering his face. “What’s happened over the year? Where’s the Chief and the Chargers? Did the Inquisition win the war? Why are you out here?”

“You don’t need to know any of that,” Dorian replied lightly, “because I am going to send you back.”

Cremisius lowered his hand and his eyes met Dorian’s. “You can do that?” He paused for a heartbeat before adding, “Safely?”

Dorian nodded his head. “I helped develop the magic that sent you here and I’ve been researching how to get you back for over a year.” Dorian stood up from his seat and started rummaging through his supplies. “Mind you, you’ll have to wait until my mana is recovered, I drained it while helping a hapless scout poisoned by a wyvern and I’m going to need it all. But I might have some lyrium left to speed up the process.”

He frowned at his empty potion bottles with traces of lyrium clinging to the glass walls. Captain Rylen was good about providing Dorian with food, clothing, and raw materials, but he didn’t often send lyrium Dorian’s way. 

Behind him, he could hear Cremisius stand up, his footsteps soft against the floor but they felt loud in the usually still ruins. Dorian glanced over his shoulder, finding the mercenary wandering aimlessly around the camp. He paused at the table, looking at Dorian’s notes and books, before shaking his head in confusion. Dorian turned back to the supply crate he was going through, hoping that he might still find some lyrium.

“Did you know that I’d come today?”

“Not at all,” Dorian answered brightly. “Thank you for not taking your sweet time, I was preparing to be here for many more years.”

There was a sudden ring of metal, startling Dorian enough that he nearly dropped the glass bottle he held in his hand. He jerked his head over to where Cremisius was standing at the copper tub, having just flicked it with his finger. The mercenary was looking at the object with a thoughtful expression before shifting his gaze to Dorian.

“Is the Chief here?”

“No.” His answer came quick and brisk, offering no further explanation. 

“But he comes by,” Cremisius guessed.

Dorian suppressed a sigh and gave up on looking for lyrium. “I’m afraid I don’t have any more lyrium. You’ll have to wait a little longer and I’ll have to have a decent meal. Do make yourself comfortable.”

He opened the barrel with his ration of dried meats, dried fruit, tea, grains, and beans. Taking out a few strips of dried druffalo, he also found a tin of spiced cookies he was saving. Now, Dorian figured, was as a good time to indulge.

“It’s quite embarrassing to have you come after I’ve tapped out my mana, but here we are,” he babbled. “I can at least offer you a little something to eat and tea, like a civilized person.”

Placing the tin of cookies on top of a pile of books, Dorian started the fire with a quick wave and went through the motions of making tea while chewing on dried druffalo. Cremisius didn’t seem interested in Dorian’s niceties though, he was busy snooping around Dorian’s things, scanning the contents of open letters, and even looking inside his tent. Perhaps Dorian should have been vexed, but he decided it didn’t matter in the long run if he successfully sent the mercenary back.

Dorian brought over two cups filled with black tea to the table and sat back down. “It’s just like sitting at a tea parlor back at home. If you close your eyes, ignore that the tea Orlesian, and imagine some humidity to the heat. Also, ignore the fact that I have no milk or sugar to offer you.”

The mercenary returned to his seat, taking the cup in hand, but didn’t drink. Looking over the wisps of steam, Cremisius ask in all seriousness, “The sky is in one piece and the world isn’t crawling with demons, so is the war over?” 

Dorian shrugged carelessly. “I don’t keep track,” he lied.

A frustrated huff escaped from the mercenary as he pressed, “If the war is over, if the Inquisition won, maybe you shouldn’t send me back. Why risk changing things?”

Rolling his eyes, Dorian retorted, “Cremisius, do not take this personally, but while I hold you in the highest regard, I do not believe that the fate of the world hinges on your absence or presence.”

Cremisius snorted, letting out an exasperated and entertained sound. “No wonder the Chief likes you. You sure know how to make a guy feel special.”

The statement made Dorian’s heart twinge with a longing ache and he ducked his head down, his gaze fixed on his tea. “While I don’t believe the fate of the world hinges on you, I do believe that you’ll do it quite a bit of good.” Then, in a quiet voice, added, “I think some things will turn out much better if you’re around.”

Cremisius’s eyes narrowed and he audibly swallowed. “Did something happen to Bull and the Chargers?”

He didn’t want to say anything about it. Talking about the incident made it real in a way that Dorian found hard to handle, tearing open wounds of regrets and grief. But if he was to ever redeem himself, to undo what he had wrought, then Dorian needed Cremisius’s cooperation to go back and the fate of the Chargers might be what he needed to gain it.

“After you disappeared, Bull wanted to lead the Chargers, but he was still needed as the Inquisitor’s bodyguard. Without someone to properly lead them, the Inquisition sent the Chargers on a couple missions with the Templars and then the Grey Wardens.” 

Dorian paused to take a deep breath to calm himself. Cremisius’s pinched face did not help, but Dorian plowed on. 

“The Chargers went to Val Gamord to support the Grey Wardens in an investigation of a darkspawn outbreak. Apparently, the darkspawn surfaced because Marquise Bouffon was illegally mining the area. When she was found out she sent mercenaries, who caught the Grey Wardens and the Chargers in an ambush. The Chargers took the brunt of the casualties, around half of them were killed.”

“Maker’s breath,” Cremisius gasped, a watery shine to his eyes. “Half?”

Dorian nodded. A heavy silence hung over them, Dorian remembered the terrible loss of so many of the Chargers and of Bull’s naked grief, while Cremisius struggled with all that occurred in his absence. 

“Dalish? Skinner? Longshot? Grim? Knives?” 

Their names came out with increasing panic and distress as disbelief twisted Cremisius’s features. His nose was ruddy, sniffling as he drew breath, while the rest of his bronze skin paled. 

Tears threatened to escape from Dorian’s burning eyes. He shook his head, unable to voice the loss, especially that of the young man who was once his guard. The excitement of having his own special assignment faded once Cremisius was declared dead and the young mercenary opted to go with his company to help the Grey Wardens. A noble calling as Riley declared it, before asking for Dorian’s blessings to leave his post. Dorian didn’t argue with him, much to his everlasting regret.

“ _Fuck_.” Cremisius drew in a shuttering breath through his mouth.

“So, you’ll go back, lead the Chargers, and _not_ go to Val Gamord,” Dorian interjected with false cheer. “Though you may want to give the Grey Wardens a heads up about the Marquise. Depends on how you feel about them after—Well, I’ll let you find that one out on your own.”

“What?”

“Ah, don’t mind me. I want to make sure there are some surprises for you in your future.” Dorian’s lips curled into humorless smile. 

Cremisius sighed, annoyance flashing across his face before he just shook his head and asked, “Where is Bull?”

Dorian rolled his shoulders as if trying to shrug off the very thought of the Iron Bull. “With the Inquisition, I suppose. I believe he took a post in the army and he’s running missions for Commander Cullen,” he tried to act casual, like he didn’t know that Bull was currently in Emprise du Lion and happily hunting dragons.

It appeared that Cremisius did not fully believe him, but he moved on, asking softly, “Why are you here alone, Lord Dorian? Why isn’t Bull here with you? I can’t imagine he’d abandon you.”

Dorian turned his head away. He was sure that the mercenary has seen more than one letter from Bull amongst his papers on the table. There wasn’t a moment when he didn’t miss the Iron Bull, didn’t long for his company. But it was more than Dorian deserved and Bull deserved to be free of him. 

“I’ve brought the Iron Bull enough misery,” he confessed, revealing what he truly believed in his heart.

That Bull would have been better off if Dorian had succumbed to his infection on the way to Skyhold.

Cremisius raised an eyebrow at him, his expression incredulous. “I don’t remember you sending me through time.”

“I provided the information about Alexius and where to find him, I made him a target, and I asked to have him brought in alive. Madame Vivienne made it abundantly clear that she had an opportunity to kill him before you engaged in battle with him,” Dorian pointed out. “And I doubt the Chargers would’ve been sent with the Grey Wardens if there was someone to lead them, I know for a fact that Commander Cullen wanted to send them on a different mission.”

Cremisius frowned. “None of this was your fault, Lord Dorian.”

He had heard the empty platitudes before, trying to absolve Dorian of his hand in events. While he was relieved that Cremisius didn’t lay the blame at Dorian’s feet as so many within Skyhold did, Dorian had along accepted his own responsibility.

“It doesn’t matter whose fault it is,” Dorian brushed it off airily. “This is one mistake I can reverse. Unless you appear right in front of a spell or an arrow. Hm, do try not to get yourself killed when I send you back.”

Letting out a hollow laugh, Cremisius nodded. “I’ll do my best.”

Dorian smirked and took a moment to check his mana, finally feeling rested. “I should have enough mana to be able to send you back. I just need to grab something and then you’ll be on your way.” 

Wandering to his tent, Dorian knelt in front of a rucksack filled with his clothes where a small magically locked box was hidden at the bottom. He took it out and opened the box, withdrawing the amulet that was confiscated from Alexius. As he stood up, Dorian saw that a pair of large striped brown and green pants were left out in plain sight, lying within arm’s reach of his bedroll.

He could remember not too long ago when he was weak and agreed to let Bull visit again. Bull’s pants and harness were tossed aside as he lounged on the bedroll, tracing invisible patterns along Dorian’s skin with his finger, and idly chatting.  
 _  
“Isn’t it nice to have someone move around heavy things for you, sweetheart?”_

_“I know it gets real cold at night here and you know I’m a walking furnace.”_

_“I bet Rylen could use some extra muscle at Griffon Wing Keep.”_

_“I’m pretty sure I saw a dragon, someone should put her down before she causes trouble.”_

_“Don’t make me go, kadan.”  
_  
Dorian shook his head and walked out of the tent with the amulet in hand.

“Hey, that’s the magister’s amulet!” Cremisus sprang to his feet.

“Thankfully I’ve had over a year to study this thing.” Dorian held up the amulet, its crystal glittering in the light.

“What will you do now?”

Dorian cocked his head to the side. “Um, send you back, like I said a few minutes ago.”

“No. Once I’m gone.”

He wasn’t expecting that, and he didn’t quite have an answer, not for Cremisius or for himself. Dorian shook his head, “I honestly don’t know. I didn’t know when, or if, you’d show up. I didn’t think about what comes next. Maybe it won’t matter. Maybe I’ll be resetting time by sending you back.”

“You mean none of this will have happened if you send me back? You won’t have wait around a ruin for me?” he asked, and Dorian just nodded. Cremisius looked thoughtful and said, “If things don’t reset, go find Bull. Go to him, he’ll want you with him.”

If it were only so easy. 

“Things have changed.”

“I saw his stuff amongst your things and all those letters he sent you, he wants to be with you. I’m willing to bet he brought you that tub too from Skyhold. He cares about you, anyone with eyes can see that.”

Dorian pressed his lips together as they threatened to tremble. How odd it seemed that he thought back at his captivity at Skyhold with such nostalgia. Those days of a slow, painful recovery and marked with fear, were also lined with Bull’s kindness and affection, Sera’s friendship, and being haunted by a rather compassionate ghost. He missed idle time reading Tethras novels, researching arcane oddities, and sleeping next to Bull. 

He missed his time at Skyhold. Before the deep suspicion, blame, and grief came to a boiling point after the slaughter in Val Gamord. Before the Lady Ambassador cheerfully told him that his parents sent a retainer to provide him with an escort back to Tevinter. Before he slipped out of the Inquisition’s stronghold in the middle of a moonless night.

“You blame yourself, but I’m sure the Chief only blames the magister.”

Dorian shuddered, the memory of Alexius in _pieces_ and the blood dripping down Bull’s fingers was still vivid in his mind. But he didn’t linger on that gruesome memory, not when Cremisius stood in front of him, clasping his shoulders with exasperated affection.

“Stop pushing him away, Lord Dorian. Don’t let him lose you too,” Cremisius urged. “When I left Skyhold, I was sure that the Chief was in love with you or pretty damn close.”

Opening one eye and then the other, Dorian was filled with instant regret as the headache that had sent him to bed early the night before still lingered. It throbbed behind his eyes, a slow and persistent pain that sapped his energy. He flopped over onto his stomach, burying his face in Bull’s pillow to hide from the bright, late morning sunlight flooding the room.

A warm hand slipped under the covers and rubbed at the tense muscles of Dorian’s upper back. Strong fingers found the knots that had wound themselves up in his shoulders, firmly and carefully easing them away.

“Still not feeling well, sweetheart?” Bull asked.

Dorian just groaned in reply, his misery muffled by the pillow smothering him.

“How about I draw you a hot bath, wash your hair and give you a shave? Maybe that’ll make you feel better.”

Dorian hummed in agreement, though he wasn’t ready to get up or have Bull stop rubbing his shoulders.

“I also have some good news,” Bull continued, and Dorian turned his head just enough so that he could peek at Bull with one eye. The mercenary captain smiled. “Leliana got a raven from Krem last night. They caught Alexius alive. There are a few wounded and no one dead other than some Venatori assholes.”

Letting out a long breath, the tension Dorian was carrying in his chest since the Chargers left.

“I’m glad to hear it,” Dorian rasped honestly.

“Krem said it was close and that he and the Chargers owe you their lives,” Bull added, a curious look in his eye. “It sounds like the advice you gave Vivienne paid off.”

Dorian fully peeled his face from the pillow and frowned as a nagging feeling overcame him. It felt like there was something on the tip of his tongue, the ghost of a memory that was just out of reach. But the feeling was gone as quickly as it came. Shaking his head, Dorian shrugged as his headache began to fade.

“I suppose you’re right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoiler-ish chapter summary: Krem goes into the future instead of Dorian and the Inquisitor. The future isn't as dark, but it's still pretty sad.
> 
> Hope everyone has a lovely Thanksgiving holiday! And thanks for reading like usual :)


	15. Message

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian receives a message. He wishes the messenger would've been a bit clearer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in this chapter! I ended having to split it into two. Hopefully I will squeeze another one in before the holidays, but this might be it until the end of the month.
> 
> Happy Holidays to everyone! And as always, thanks for reading and your kind and generous comments!

“Are you moving the library?”

Dorian startled at the sound of a Free Marcher accent at his back and he spun on his heels, wary of who he might face. But he was relieved to see the Qunari scout he met a while back, standing at the entrance of the alcove with her gloved hands on her hips and an amused smirk on her lips. She was dressed smartly in a white overcoat and a red handkerchief tied around her throat, making him instantly think of Sera.

He was puzzled by her question, but then he realized that the stacks of books surrounding him were both high and numerous. He was pulling them from the shelves, organizing them and deciding which ones were needed for his research. It did appear that Dorian had gone a bit overboard in his selection though.

“The library is not moving, but I am,” Dorian answered with a dry little laugh.

“You are?” The scout blinked and her smirk fell into a small frown.

“The news that Grey Warden mages are performing blood rituals and summoning a demon army hasn’t shined a particularly kind light on mages as a whole. So, I am moving my studies somewhere less public and borrowing a few books,” Dorian explained, gesturing to the books all around him.

The truth of it was that the rumors that came out of the Western Approach were not good. Then everything became worse when most of those rumors were confirmed upon the return of the Herald’s party just the day before. Dorian’s heart sank for more than one reason when the it was corroborated that Grey Warden mages were using blood rituals to summon demons at the behest of a Tevinter magister.

Before the news from the Western Approach, the attitude towards mages at Skyhold was tolerant at best. Now it was downright icy.

The Qunari’s eyes widened and her frown deepened. “Are you ok? Has anyone threatened you?”  
 _  
I’ve seen more than one Templar lingering in the library when there used to be none. The maid ‘accidentally’ spilled scalding hot tea on me yesterday. Everyone takes a step back from me when they used to ignore me. I’m afraid that the Ambassador might confine me to my room for my own protection.  
_  
Dorian shook his head, touched by the scout’s surprising concern. “I am perfectly well, and this is a mere precaution, a tactical retreat so to say. I don’t want to invite trouble. I’ll be back to the library once this has all blown over.”

The worry didn’t leave the Qunari’s face, but she slowly nodded her head. “Ok. But let me know if anything changes.”

Dorian hid his smile. There was little a scout could do to influence the attitude within Skyhold, even if she was an officer, but her concern was kind and refreshing. She didn’t know Dorian, but that didn’t stop her inquiries over his wellbeing. Even if they were superficial, Dorian appreciated it.

He nearly folded himself in half with the grand sweeping bow he gave her. “You will be the first to know, madam.”

She rolled her eyes with a chuckle. “Good. Now, I need to go see Leliana. Anything I can bring up to her for you?”

“Not this time, thank you.”

The Qunari scout gave him a quick wave goodbye and raced up the stairs to the rookery, disappearing almost as quickly as she appeared. Not long after her departure, Riley came up the stairs from the other end of the library with a couple wooden crates in his arms.

“I found some crates that we can use, Lord Dorian,” the young mercenary dropped his wares to the ground, slightly winded for his efforts. “Were you ok on your own? No one bothered you, right?”

“I was fine, Riley, just like I told you.” Dorian didn’t mention the friendly chat with the Qunari scout, not wanting to give his guard anything to worry about.

“Ok, yeah, good,” Riley bobbed his head up and down. “The Chief would’ve killed me if a Templar or someone harassed you.” Then scratching at his hair, he admitted, “The Chief would probably kill me if he knew I left you alone at all.”

“Then it shall be our little secret,” Dorian flashed a charming smile. “Now, I think I am done selecting my books. Let’s get them packed up and back to the room.”

As he began to direct Riley as to which piles of books he wanted to take, out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a familiar female form in polished armor amongst the library stacks. Once Riley’s back was turned, Dorian quickly twisted his neck in the direction of the figure. But he only got a good view of a door hastily closing and the sick thud of his heart pounding in his chest. He didn’t utter a word about it.

Fortunately for Riley, Dorian pared down his choices and did not need both crates, but he did overload one of them that the poor mercenary insisted on carrying. Dorian’s own arms were laden with books as they returned to the Iron Bull’s room. Setting up his research space in Bull’s room wasn’t ideal, the mercenary captain did like to make himself a distraction, but it would have to do until the Warden mages were dealt with. He also wanted to make the move himself before the Lady Ambassador asked him to withdraw from the more public areas of Skyhold.

She had already worryingly asked him twice about any issues since people started whispering about Grey Wardens under the influence of a Tevinter magister. Dorian clearly understood that his mere presence could disrupt the peace in Skyhold.

Bull was waiting for him in the room. He quickly relieved Dorian of his books, chastising Riley over letting Dorian carry so many things, despite Dorian’s own protests that he was fine. 

Riley, a sweet mixture of cluelessness and skittishness around his captain, answered, “But then I’d have to make two trips and I didn’t know you’d be here. I didn’t want to leave Lord Dorian alone again.”

“Again?” Bull rumbled, a deep sound coming from the depths of his chest.

“Uh, you know,” Riley stuttered, “just don’t want him to be alone. But I’ll leave you alone now. The two of you. Not alone, but together. Right.”

The young mercenary fled the room before Bull could let out another disapproving growl.

“You could stand to be a little easier on him,” Dorian said lightly, standing up for his sometimes-hapless guard.

“Easier is not what that kid needs,” Bull mumbled, rolling his eye in exasperation.

Dorian snorted and let a smile spread over his lips. “Anyway, this is a pleasant surprise. You’re usually busy plotting the Inquisition’s takeover of Thedas with the Commander or fussing over the Chargers during the day.”

He was pleased to see Bull, but too tired for a tumble in bed. While his health had considerably improved, Dorian didn’t like to admit that he became exhausted quicker than usual. Still, he sat down on the edge of the bed and leaned back invitingly, holding his head in a way to give Bull the best view of his profile.

Bull didn’t take the implied offer though and instead pulled up a chair and sat in front of him. “I asked Leliana and Josephine about your mentor.”

Hope unwillingly expanded in Dorian’s chest and he immediately dropped his veil of seduction, sitting up in attention. “And can I see him?”

Bull shook his head. “Not right now, sweetheart. Leliana has Alexius for questioning, so it might be a little while before you can.”

A heavy sigh heaved out of Dorian as he nodded, “Right.”

He wondered if he’d ever get to see Alexius. Or if Sister Leliana would even leave Alexius whole after her questioning.

Dorian then began to examine his shoddy memory. There had to be something trapped in his brain that he could bargain with. Some valuable piece of information that he overheard from the Venatori that could aid the Inquisition and help him gain access to Alexius.

He noticed that his flashbacks were slowly lessening, that they sprang up on him less frequently. A part of him was relieved, Dorian did not care for reliving his torture, but it also left him without one of his main negotiating tools. The ghost, Cole, told him not to force his memories, but while the ghost was well meaning, Dorian needed them.

He retraced from his most recent memories of his capture, right before the Chargers rescued him. However, those proved to be the foggiest. At that time, Dorian was too overwhelmed by his miserable situation, hoping not to draw attention to himself to avoid being hurt. But now he hoped those memories might to be the source of the most accurate and current information on the Venatori, even as they came in jagged fragments, tearing at Dorian’s mind.  
 _  
“—the Duchess said her brother—”_

_“—it’s a literal Nightmare—”_

_“—slaughtered their own Divine—"_

_“—start investigating the Arbor Wilds, just in case—”  
_  
“Hey,” Bull’s voice was soft and firm, pulling Dorian out his head, almost as if he knew that Dorian had slipped away for moment. Large hands framed Dorian’s face as Bull promised, “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you get to see him and that he answers your questions.” 

Bull pressed a chaste, undemanding kiss on Dorian lips before pulling back, his single eye searching Dorian’s face. Whatever he was looking for, Bull seemed satisfied and the scrutiny in his gaze slid away.

“Krem said he wanted to talk to you when you have the time,” Bull added.

“Oh?” 

“Yeah, said he had something tell you about the fight with Alexius. I’m not exactly sure what he wants to talk about, I’m just about to have a full debrief with him. Should I send him up after I talk to him?”

“Yes, that will be fine,” Dorian nodded. “We’ll go for an early dinner afterwards, before the tavern fills up. I’m sure your lieutenant can’t have that much to say to me.”

Dorian should have known better to make assumptions.

“Did I hear you correctly? Alexius sent you into the future, where I was waiting for you in a ruin in the middle of desert? And I sent you back to save the Chargers from certain slaughter?”

“Uh, yeah.”

Dorian’s perfect posture slowly evaporated as he began to slump in his seat. The shock that was racing through his body left him numb and speechless. He could only stare at his countryman, sitting just across the table in the privacy of the Iron Bull’s room, and he was almost disbelieving of the story that was just told. But Lieutenant Aclassi did not strike Dorian as an extravagant liar and while the story he just told was quite far out, in his bones Dorian knew it was true. 

Cremisius shifted self-consciously in his chair, making the wood creak under his weight. There was an uncertain expression to his handsome features. Even the Lieutenant seemed aware of how outlandish he sounded.

“The official line is that I went into the future, appeared at Skyhold, and you promptly sent me back. I told the Chief all the important bits, he’ll know what to do with them to stop the Chargers from being ambushed. Anyway, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t repeat this to anyone other than the Chief and as I said, I already told him the gist of what happened,” Cremisius said, his voice low as if he was afraid of being overheard. “I don’t want to be caught lying to Sister Leliana.”

“Right,” Dorian nodded slowly. “As if anyone would believe me.”

A high, nervous laugh escaped from Cremisius as his hand hooked behind his neck, nailed scratching impulsively at the skin there. “I understand the feeling.”

“How … How much did you tell Bull?” Dorian asked, wanting to know how much was revealed.

“That you were waiting for me at the ruins for over year and you gave me information that would save the Chargers,” Cremisius answered. “He’s pretty enamored by your selflessness. I think he was going to see the merchants to buy as much silk as he can get his hands on.”

“Selflessness? Is that what he calls it?” Dorian laughed humorlessly. 

If anything, waiting for Cremisius was the least Dorian could do. Dorian did marvel at his ability to send his countryman back in time, to have finally taken what he studied in theory into real practice. Though it was hardly surprising considering that he had over a year to study Alexius’s amulet. Still, it was quite the achievement that some version of himself performed. He was almost envious of himself, if that future had not been so personally horrific.

And he was rather pleased in his commitment to save Cremisius and the Chargers, instead of succumbing to pure selfishness. Dorian knew he was not above slumping into a drunken stupor for days or weeks on end, throwing himself at base pleasures to ignore his larger problems. But considering that he threw the Chargers into harm’s way, anything less from Dorian would have been unforgiveable.

“The Chargers want to buy you several rounds of drinks for bringing me back. They don’t know what they really owe you, but I do,” Cremisius said. “Anything you need, Lord Dorian, the Chargers are at your disposal.”

“We are even now, Lieutenant. Let us not forget that your company rescued me from the Venatori.”

“Anything you need, Lord Dorian,” he repeated in all seriousness.

_Take me to see Felix’s grave, despite what the Lady Ambassador or Sister Leliana might say. Let me properly honor and grieve for him._

“A dangerous promise,” Dorian grinned without real feeling. “One you should know better than to make to an Altus.”

“It stands,” Cremisius replied stubbornly. 

“Thank you.” And Dorian found that he really meant it.

Considering the alternate future Cremisius laid out to Dorian, he wouldn’t be surprised if he would later need the Chargers’ help. He could see how easily his fortunes changed by a single event, and while the Lieutenant was safe and sound, that didn’t mean something else would not cause Dorian’s downfall. Having the Chargers in his debt could prove useful if such a situation came up.

Clearing his throat lightly, Cremisius suddenly said, “Whatever happens, Lord Dorian, don’t push the Chief away.”

Cremisius’s statement caught Dorian off guard, slicing into his thoughts and forcing him to refocus his attention on the mercenary. He wasn’t expecting relationship advice from Bull’s second in command, but there it was. There was no hint of teasing or ridicule in his countryman’s tone that he could detect, just a heartfelt and serious declaration.

“Bull lost a lot in that future. He’s already lost his people and homeland when he became Tal-Vashoth, but in that future, I was gone, half of the Chargers were dead, and you were in a self-imposed exile in the desert. I saw the letters he sent you, he was always asking you to let him come see you and to stay with you.” Cremisius frowned. “You thought it was your fault, but the Chief didn’t see it that way.”

Dorian licked his suddenly dry lips. “I suppose I was where I needed to be, at the ruins waiting for you. I can’t see why Bull would have needed to be there as well.”

Cremisius shook his head. “I know him, he would have stayed at the ruins with you for as long as it took.”

“He does care about you a great deal,” Dorian tried to deflect, feeling rather uncomfortable about the direction the conversation was going.

The young mercenary was not amused, his gaze unyielding. With confidence, the Lieutenant told Dorian, “I know what I saw, what I read from those letters, and I’ve known the Chief for years. He lost just about everything in that future and all he wanted was to be with you.”

The force of his words almost shook Dorian. No matter the doubt Dorian expressed, Cremisius was firm in his convictions and was undistracted by Dorian’s deflections.

“I don’t mean to dump this all on you, Lord Dorian, I hardly believe any of it myself,” Cremisius added gently, almost self-consciously. “I just wanted you to know how much the Chief cares about you and that you can trust him to continue caring about you, no matter what happens.”

Again, Dorian found himself speechless, but he found that he wasn’t too shocked. He had been a port in a storm before and from the sound of it, Bull had gone through the worst of storms. Thankfully, Cremisius didn’t require a response from Dorian. Reaching into his leathers, the Lieutenant pulled out a slightly crumpled and folded piece of paper with a messy white wax seal, holding it out to him. 

“You wrote this to yourself. I didn’t read it and I haven’t shown it to anyone else.”

Dorian took the letter and saw the wax seal bore the imprint of one of the rings that Maevaris had packed for him in the trunk she sent, it currently sat on his right middle finger. His fingertips ran over the piece of paper, an artifact of a future that would not be, written by a Dorian that would hopefully not exist. He was eager to see what information he might have passed on, even though Dorian was sure it was not likely very cheerful. 

But there was something that Dorian wasn’t satisfied with. Cremisius told him of his jaunt into the future and of Alexius’s capture, but Dorian wanted to know if there were others at the ruins. There was one Venatori that had departed before the Chargers laid waste to the party that held Dorian captive.

_“I’m riding out ahead, but I’ll be waiting for you in the Western Approach. Will you miss me?”_

Instead of taking his leave, Dorian couldn’t help but to pick at an old wound and asked, “When you encountered Alexius at the ruin, how many Enchanters did you fight? Do you remember?”

Cremisius frowned and pressed his lips as he thought back to the battle. “There was just one other Enchanter, but Enchanter Vivienne took her down pretty quickly. The rest were muscle, more than a couple gladiators. Those guys were a pain in the ass.”

Disappointment sank down within Dorian when it was obvious that the Venatori he was thinking about had not been there. Had not met his end. 

“Why do you ask?”

“There was someone who I thought might have been there, but I seem to be mistaken,” Dorian gave the Lieutenant a half smile and shook his head. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

“Another friend of yours?”

_“Remember when you used to come to me like this? You were eager to get onto your knees for me then.”_

Dorian suppressed a shudder and shook his head again with a small shrug. “Just another unfortunate acquaintance tangled up with the Venatori.”

“Right,” Cremisius sighed. 

Then Cremisius’s cheeks turned a deep red and he placed a pure white silk handkerchief lined with silver stitching and a bold red embroidered MT in the corner on the table. Dorian instantly recognized it and his brief melancholy evaporated into amusement. 

“I, uh,” Cremisius squirmed a bit, “I hoped you could explain this to me? This apparently arrived after I left, it’s from a Magister Tilani, and it came with a long letter about my kindness and bravery for rescuing you and Lord Felix. The letter has a lipstick kiss and the handkerchief smells like perfume. _Nice_ perfume.”

The Lieutenant’s cheeks colored even more as Dorian chuckled softly. “You have won the favor of Magister Maevaris Tilani. Hold onto that handkerchief, Lieutenant, you will be able to call in a favor from Maevaris, should you need it.”

“Is that a good thing?” Cremisius’s teeth caught his bottom lip, then asked as he traced the embroidered lettering, “What kind of magister is she?”

“She is the very best kind of magister.”

Dorian took some time to tell the mercenary about his friend and a sort of starry-eyed wonder swept over the Lieutenant’s features. He even hinted at Maevaris’s expression of her own gender and if anything, the adoration on Cremisius’s face strengthened. Still blushing and clutching onto the handkerchief, Cremisius excused himself shortly after Dorian finished telling him about Maevaris.

While Dorian was highly entertained by Cremisius’s blossoming admiration for Maevaris, he was glad to be left alone. He moved to the armchair in front of fireplace, eagerly clutching the letter given to him. He broke the wax seal and instantly recognized the flowing script as his own, written in Tevene, and disappointingly short. Instead of providing great revelations to help him through the next year of his life, of things to avoid, of great magical discoveries, all he apparently chose to write were three miserly sentences.  
 _  
Barris was half right, the Iron Bull used to be a Qunari spy, but always trust Bull. Keep him close for as long as you can._

_Sera can get you out of Skyhold, if you need it._  
  
Dorian stared at the letter, feeling both confused and vexed. 

After holding the paper up to the light and casting a spell to search for any hidden messages, and finding none, Dorian let his magic eat away at it. The letter was reduced to ashes and bits of melted wax that smeared his fingertips and littered the floor. It was a shame to burn an item from the future, but the last thing he needed was for the Templars to find the message he sent himself, despite its vagueness.

Wiping away the last traces of the letter, Dorian curled his legs up onto the armchair, bringing them close to his body as he remembered the rumor Barris repeated to him. The thought that Bull used to be spy admittedly scared him. He was sure that Bull wasn’t currently with the Qunari, he could hardly believe the Inquisition would bring one in and not discovering him. Cremisius himself had just called Bull a Tal-Vashoth. But he questioned if Sister Leliana was using Bull to collect information on Dorian, to gather up the painful memories that Dorian purposefully left for him.

But obviously Bull’s status as a former spy did not faze him later, instead he urged himself to hang onto his relationship for as long as he could. Dorian knew himself, knew that he guarded his heart fiercely and trust did not come easily to him. He knew he could have easily told himself to walk away now, to avoid the pain later. He put a lot of weight into that.

The second piece of information was less disturbing and more of something to put up his sleeve alongside Cremisius’s promise. He didn’t need it at the moment, but it was good to know that the option was there. Like the little pouch of food Sera gave him to hide, the knowledge that she could get him out of Skyhold brought Dorian a sudden sense of security that he had hardly knew was missing. Though he did wonder why his future self needed Sera to escape, if the attitudes towards mages became so hostile that he had to leave to avoid being thrown into the dungeon. Or worse, if the Inquisition decided to ransom him to his parents.

“How did your talk with Krem go?”

Dorian blinked, he didn’t hear Bull coming back into the room, nor did he notice Bull standing at the armchair, looking down at him with a fond expression. But he did notice that Bull moved quieter and quicker than a man his size rightly should.

“Informative, to say the least,” Dorian replied with a weak smile. “I heard you were buying a present for me.”

“Maybe,” a coy smile curled on Bull’s lips, “it’s a surprise.” The smile faded a bit as Bull studied his expression and he reached down, cradling Dorian’s cheek in his hand. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

Dorian stared up at Bull’s face. Ever since he was rescued by the Iron Bull, the mercenary captain had treated him great kindness, affection, and care. Nothing Bull did seemed to put Dorian into harm’s way, he never asked probing questions to extract more information from him, he never asked anything of Dorian. If he was spying on Dorian, he wasn’t taking anything that Dorian wasn’t offering.

He told himself to always trust the Iron Bull.

Humming quietly, Dorian leaned into Bull’s touch and answered, “Nothing, really. I just wish I had been less cryptic with myself.”


	16. Mercy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian asks for mercy. Then he doesn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I managed to slide this one in before the holidays. This will probably be my last update on this story until January. I hope everyone has a safe and lovely holiday!

The sun had long gone down, leaving the air cold and damp with the thick smell of approaching snow. Dorian pulled his blue cloak closer to his body, the fur lining buffering the wind, as he followed Bull across the courtyard with frozen grass crunching beneath his boots. As he walked, one of Bull’s large hands rested just below Dorian’s neck, its weight and heat comforting.

Bull didn’t have to tell Dorian which direction to go, just a slight push with his palm told Dorian where to turn. With hardly a word between them, he led them to a discrete door in the walls of the fortress, hardly noticeable amongst the usual activities of the main courtyard. Behind the door was a long set of stairs lined with bright torches that went down into the belly of Skyhold. Despite the ample fire, Dorian could feel the sinking cold as they descended.

The stairs led into a dungeon that was mostly intact, a cave-in at one of the cells brought in a refreshing burst of air, keeping back any staleness or stink. The space was surprisingly well lit and dry despite the exposure to the elements, but the chill still lingered. A single guard roamed free, but she caught sight of them and gave Bull a nod before leaving through another door, probably leading deeper in the dungeon.

There were only a few usable cells in the main room and a single lonely figure was lying on a cot behind the bars. Dorian’s throat tightened as he realized that despite the size and reach of the Inquisition, there were no other prisoners. It spoke volumes about the Herald’s sense of justice.

Hearing their footsteps, Alexius’s head turned slightly, but he didn’t look up from where he was lying. In an exhausted sneer, Alexius greeted them with, “I thought you were done with me, oxman.”

“I told you that you had someone else to answer to,” Bull replied gruffly, his tone almost a growl. “Remember what I told you, you’re going to answer every question he has, or you know what is going to happen.”

Dorian didn’t know, but Alexius apparently did.

Alexius got to his feet, standing at the bars with a deep scowl lining his drawn and pale face with dark circles sitting under his eyes. There were a few faded bruises and half healed scraps on Alexius’s exposed skin, and he was favoring his left leg, but his injuries appeared cared for. He was wearing a clean set of robes, but they lacked a hood and exposed his closely shorn head, making Alexius appear older than he was. And the high neckline of the robes nearly hid the collar secured around Alexius’s throat, but not quite.  
 _  
The magebane coated Dorian’s mouth long after the vile liquid was poured down his throat. His jaw and neck ached from the force his captors used in prying his mouth open and his bottom lip throbbed after it stopped bleeding from the bottle that was pushed past his teeth. His entire body radiated in pain, trembling in both agony and cold as he laid on the ground where he was left. But even that was nothing compared to the magebane._

_Dorian knew of the effects of magebane, had studied it in the Vyrantium Circle, but he never consumed it himself. Being cut off from the Fade for so long was like having a piece of his soul carved out of him, something so fundamental to his identity, status, and happiness, was simply missing. He was hollow in a way that made breathing a chore._

_A familiar face peered down him and gorgeous features were pulled into a razor-sharp smile. Before Dorian could gather his thoughts or struggle in his bonds, a heavy collar was secured around his neck and bit tightly into his flesh._

_“I found you a necklace, Pavus.”  
_  
Bull squeezed his arm and Dorian was no longer lying in the dirt with magebane in his blood, and a magic nullifying collar choking him. Bull’s gaze was fixed upon Dorian’s face, lips bowed into a slight frown, and he knew that Bull would whisk him away given the chance. Dorian laid his hand over Bull’s where it was still fixed to his arm, giving Bull a gentle pat before sliding out of his grip and moved towards the cell, the mercenary captain close on his heels.

Dorian stood tall in front of the bars, appearing aloof in his fine clothing and mask of cosmetics. With his facial wounds healed and regular meals and snacks filling out the hollowness in his body, Dorian knew he nearly looked as if he was at his peak. But as a Tevinter mage in a fortress full of southern Templars, he knew that he could very easily be in the cell alongside Alexius.

“Dorian,” Alexius hissed, his voice low with simmering anger and disgust.

He barely nodded his head in cold greeting. “Alexius.”

“I should have known that you were behind this, but I would have thought you’d come to face me yourself rather than sending a Circle mage,” Alexius baited.

“I was busy,” Dorian answered blandly. “Besides, you were the one who wanted me at the Western Approach, and I wasn’t about to waltz into a trap.” Even though he had desperately wanted to do so and had begged Bull to let him go.

“You were supposed to help me save Felix!” Alexius snarled, his hands balled up into tight fists and his knuckles turning white as his face began to flush. “Between the two of us, we could have unraveled the secrets of the artifact and used the magic in that ruin to save Felix and Livia.”

“Is that what you thought?” Dorian asked, his voice steady despite his heart thumping uncontrollably in his chest. “The time magic you were using in Redcliffe was wildly unstable! What made you think that some artifact buried in the desert was going to make a difference?”

“I had to try! I had to try to save Felix!”

“Is that why you joined the Venatori?” Dorian asked. “You thought they could cure Felix? Or that you could skip through time and stop the attack?”

“If I could have gotten rid of the Herald, the Elder One was going to remove the Blight from Felix. And if the Elder One couldn’t, or wouldn’t, do it, then I could use the magic to stop the attack,” Alexius told him, desperation was heavily present when all reason was not. “It was the only way, but in the end, I couldn’t save my son.”

Alexius’s voice cracked in despair and Dorian felt for him. Even though Felix’s accepted his own death, Dorian understood Alexius’s desire to save his son. He wanted to save Felix too and had spent two long years at Alexius’s side to try to find a cure for the Blight until hopelessness frayed at his nerves and patience. In that moment, Dorian could almost pity his former mentor, but one unanswered question kept him from full blown sympathy.

“Did you send the Venatori after me?” Dorian accused. “To kidnap me?”

“I found out you were in Redcliffe and I had you followed,” Alexius admitted without shame or regret, his earlier anguish quickly disappeared. He was simply stating a fact as he carelessly added, “I told the Venatori to do with you as they wished.”

Dorian had suspected the truth, but his heart still tore at hearing it in such a casual and offhanded way, spilling easily out of the mouth of his former mentor. It was also oddly insulting to know that Alexius hadn’t cared enough to order either his death or his capture and he merely left Dorian’s fate up to the Venatori. That knowledge left a deep and empty feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Next to him, Dorian could almost feel the rage rolling off Bull. A quick glance showed Bull’s usually kind face frozen in expressionless coldness. His hands were in tight fists, knuckles nearly white and the muscles of his arms were tense. Bull reminded Dorian of a tight coil, stress and energy being held back and aching to be released.

Dorian pushed on, needing his questions to be answered. “Why did you leave Felix in Redcliffe?” he demanded. “When I heard that the Inquisition found Felix without you, I was convinced you were dead.”

A wet sheen came over Alexius’s defiant gaze. “Your Circle mage told me Felix was still alive,” Alexius dared to sound betrayed. “After that Soporati reappeared, the Circle mage told me that Felix was at Skyhold and I threw down my staff. I should’ve known you were behind that particular piece of treachery.”

“Answer him,” Bull snapped, a taste of his angry energy was released.

Alexius took a step back from the bars, eyes darting quickly to Bull’s face before answering, “It was the only way to gain access to the artifact, Felix would’ve never survived the journey to the ruin. When the Herald didn’t show up at Redcliffe Castle, I told Calpernia that I could still serve the Elder One. When I found out that your _friend_ spared you, I told her that with your help I could make the artifact work. I convinced her that you could be of use to the operations in the Western Approach and together we could succeed where the others had failed.” 

“You already approached me for the Venatori and I remember being quite unmoved,” Dorian countered.

“I knew that with enough time, the Venatori would break you,” Alexius stated as simply as if he was talking about the weather.

Next to him, Dorian could hear Bull suck in a long breath through his nose. 

“And if not, you would have slit my throat and used my blood,” Dorian filled in the blanks.

“If I could use you to go back to the attack on their caravan, then it would have been worth it!” Alexius’s hands seized the bars as he raised voice echoed through the dungeon, spittle flying from his lips. “If I could have saved one of them, it would be all worth it. But you wouldn’t understand, not when it comes to sacrifice and family. I would spill your blood a thousand times to save Livia and Felix.”

Dorian just barely managed not to flinch, not to blink. He experienced all sorts of insults and threats in his life, but none cut nearly as deeply as Alexius’s words did. Even though Dorian knew that Alexius would have killed him, even though Alexius had thrown his lot in with darkspawn bent on destroying the world, Dorian still cared for him, still loved him. He had hoped, rather than truly believed, that Alexius might have still cared for him as well in some small way. That delicate hope, that Dorian hardly knew he even harbored, was quickly shattered.

While Dorian didn’t move, the Iron Bull did. The mercenary captain took a purposeful step towards the cell and Alexius reeled back, withdrawing as if to protect himself. It made Dorian wonder what Sister Leliana’s earlier questioning involved. She had Alexius in her exclusive custody for nearly a week and Dorian knew Bull made more than one visit. What techniques did the Iron Bull use that caused that sort of response from Alexius? Things that he learned as a supposed Qunari spy?

“Did the Soporati ever say what he saw in the future?” Alexius suddenly asked.

The snarl that Bull was holding back became audible, only quieting when Dorian’s fingers wrapped around Bull’s wrist.

“I think that was all I wanted to know,” Dorian told Bull, his words coming out soft against the harsh backdrop of the dungeon. 

Bull nodded, letting a little huff of a sigh. “Ok, yeah.”

Without another word, Dorian turned around and headed for the stairs, not once looking back at Alexius.

He and Bull walked back to the room in silence. Dorian hardly felt the cold as they made their return, but he was keenly aware of Bull’s arm his shoulders, tucking Dorian neatly against his side as if sheltering him from the world. Relief unwound the tightness in Dorian’s body once they stepped inside their room, its atmosphere welcoming Dorian in a way that no other space in Skyhold did. A fire was lit in the hearth while they were away, warming the room, and a pot of piping hot tea and cookies were waiting for them on the table.

Bull snorted and swiped more than his fair share of cookies. “Knives is getting domestic.”

“He does take his duties rather seriously,” Dorian let out a dry laugh.

“Not as seriously as I’d always like,” Bull griped.

Dorian removed his cloak and sank down in a chair before pouring himself a cup of tea with a splash of milk, managing to keep his hands steady through the whole ritual. The room was filled with all the comforts that Dorian could ever want on this side of Thedas. A warm bed, access to research materials, a desk to write his correspondence, meals brought to him, and even a man who served as his protector and lover. At the same time, Alexius was in a dungeon and waiting to see if the Inquisitor would execute or spare him.

“Could I ask something of you?”

Bull sat down next to Dorian, chewing on his last cookie with crumbs falling to the floor, as he answered, “Anything, sweetheart.”

“Could you ask the Inquisitor to show Alexius mercy?”

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, the warmth on Bull’s face turned cold. “You want the boss to show him mercy? After he conscripted the rebel mages who attacked Haven, plotted to kill the boss, almost removed Krem from time itself, and sent the Venatori after you so he could use you as a blood sacrifice?”

“When you put it that way,” Dorian let out a breathless, nearly hysterical laugh. 

Bull’s eye darkened and his mouth was pulled back into a grim, hard line. “There’s no other way to put it.”

Dorian couldn’t argue with that, Alexius’s crimes were severe, and he could hardly stand to listen to Alexius himself. But there were so few people Dorian truly cared about, so few people who had shown him true kindness. 

“He is not the man I remember, no,” Dorian shook his head, “but he was good to me when no one else was. He saved me from myself and it’s time I do the same.”

“It’s not the same thing, Dorian,” Bull replied quickly, his words blunt and a little harsh. “From what you told me yourself, you were a kid when he took you in and you weren’t hurting anyone. He’s a fucking grown ass magister messing around with time magic and plotting with a darkspawn aspiring to godhood.”

Dorian closed his eyes for a second, trying to keep his breath even as he felt his control over the conversation slipping through his fingers.

“I know,” he admitted, “I know he needs to be held accountable, he needs to be punished, but I don’t want to see Alexius die. I—”

Still loved his old mentor, still admired him, still held him above almost all other men.

Bull frowned. “I’m not going to tell the boss to spare him.”

Dorian was instantly disappointed. Bull said no to him infrequently, but when he did, it felt like he said no to the things that Dorian truly wanted. But Dorian did acknowledge that those were big asks, bigger than even Bull and his standing as the Inquisitor’s bodyguard and mercenary captain.

If he couldn’t get Bull to ask the Herald for mercy, then perhaps he could petition to the Ambassador. If he hurried, he could write to Mae for additional resources to try to sway the Inquisitor. Or perhaps he could offer more information, something big and important, in exchange for Alexius’s life. If Dorian could just claw at the broken fragments of his memory and reclaim them.  
 _  
“—it’s a literal Nightmare … a massive demon … Wardens will bring it through—”_

_“Stop blabbering about the Wardens in front of Pavus.”_

_“Ha! I’d be surprised if he could even understand us, there’s hardly anything left of him now. Though that does remind me that I do need blood—"  
_  
“Stop it.”

Dorian startled and stared up at Bull.

“Don’t … I know what you’re doing,” Bull sighed, his hands grabbing Dorian’s, “and I don’t need that from you, ok?”

“What do you mean?”  
 _  
You’re a spy. If you’re not a Qunari spy, then Leliana must be using you, right? Isn’t this what you want? I trust you, I love you, I’ll give you what you want.  
_  
Bull didn’t answer him though. He pulled on Dorian’s hands, bringing him in close and gathering him onto his lap. His arms wrapped around Dorian, holding him firmly and securely.

“I just need you to get better, ok? That’s all you should worry about.” Bull pressed his face into Dorian’s hair, his breath tickling Dorian’s scalp as he told him, “I’ll tell the boss that you’ve asked for Alexius to be spared, ok? I’ll tell her it’s coming from you, but I’m not going to plea for his life.” 

He nodded against Bull’s skin, a silent thank you for his concession. Then, muffled by Bull’s shoulder smashed into his face, Dorian asked, “If she orders to have him made Tranquil, will you take me to him so that I can kill him?”

Bull’s arms tightened around him. “I’ll do it myself.”

Alexius’s trial was scheduled for an unremarkable day and early morning, right after breakfast was served from the kitchens. Despite the hour of the trial, Bull warned that there was likely to be a large crowd at the Great Hall. Not wanting to see his former mentor judged by the Inquisitor, Dorian begged off the honor of attending, but insisted that Bull go so that he could hear an account from someone he trusted. Bull had hesitated, but eventually left as he was told.

Sitting alone in the confines of the room, Dorian instantly began to have second thoughts. A nervous energy ran through him, bringing Dorian to his feet as he paced anxiously the length of the room.  
 _  
Do I really want my first glimpse of the Inquisitor to be when she sentences Alexius to death?_

_I should be there though. I owe it to Alexius, after all he has done for me._

_He sent the Venatori after me, he was willing to kill me. He didn’t care._

_He took me in when I was at my lowest and raised me to my highest.  
_  
Dorian suddenly knew that he had to go.

But by the time Dorian made up his mind, it was already too late to catch up with Bull, Dorian thought with regret. He was sure Bull was already at the Great Hall. Shifting from foot to foot, Dorian’s mind raced for another solution. Then, striding across the room, Dorian peeked out the door into the tavern’s attic and found his ever present guard at his post, the first book of _Swords & Shields_ in his hands and an intense look on his face as he devoured page after page. 

“Riley?”

The mercenary snapped his head up in attention, his book hastily tossed aside. “Yes? Ok? Do you need something, Lord Dorian?”

“I’ve changed my mind, I believe I would like to go to Alexius’s trial,” Dorian told him. “Might there be somewhere … discrete, where I could watch it from?”

Riley nodded vigorously. “Leave it to me, Lord Dorian! I know just the place. Hopefully it isn’t occupied.”

Dorian followed Riley on a familiar path through Skyhold and towards the library, a walk he had done countless times before. It felt a little different though, he could almost feel someone’s gaze on his back, causing him to look behind several times when Riley wasn’t paying attention. He didn’t see anyone other than the usual guards and messengers along the battlements, none really paying any mind to the pair.

Dorian brushed off his growing unease as self-consciousness. While not all knew of his connection to Alexius, he knew that many would correctly assume there was one. He tried to convince himself that he didn’t truly think someone was following him, despite the dread gathering in his stomach.

The young mercenary eventually led Dorian to the balcony where he met Madame Vivienne. Both he and Riley were relieved to find it empty as the anxious look Riley carried melted away. Standing at the railing, Dorian was satisfied with the location as it provided him with a view of the entire hall and kept him safe from the masses. There was the drawback of not being able to see the Inquisitor, her throne was rather small and the light coming through the stain glass windows was too radiant to see any details. He could make out the outline of a few people and one Qunari, who was certainly not Bull, but he was too far away to make any guesses about who they were.

As Bull predicted, the Great Hall was crowded. The sides of the hall were packed with people, servants, soldiers, merchants, Chantry sisters, and nobles all gathered for the spectacle of the trial. For many, who were not at Haven, this would likely be the first time they had seen a Tevinter magister and a novelty that they could not pass up. There was an excited murmur, Dorian couldn’t pick out the individual words, but he was sure it was nothing flattering about Tevinter. 

The crowd suddenly fell still and silent and Dorian couldn’t see what was happening, but soon Alexius came into view. He was being marched through the center of the hall, flanked by Inquisition soldiers. After the stunned silence, the crowd began to hiss with disgust and hatred. He couldn’t see the chains, but Dorian was sure that he could hear them clinking above the angry murmur of Skyhold’s residents.

Alexius was brought before the throne and in a loud, clear voice, Dorian could hear Ambassador Montilyet begin to list off the charges against him. She was hardly halfway through the second charge when Dorian found that he was having a hard time breathing and sweat was breaking out across his skin as his heart began to beat wildly. Bile was creeping up his throat, further cutting off his airway.

The entire display was too much, and Dorian instantly realized his foolishness in attending. Backing away from the railing, he couldn’t stop the harsh tremble in his body, and he could barely hear Riley’s panicked words over the roar of his own blood rushing in his ears. Before he could comprehend what he was doing, Dorian was moving and fleeing towards the nearest door. 

With very little knowledge of the layout of Skyhold, the fortress was a maze, and panic enveloped Dorian when he realized that he hadn’t left the way he came in. Inside an unfamiliar and darkened hallway, Dorian whipped his head around, searching for an exit and instead of backtracking the way he came, he found the nearest door and went out that way.

Fresh air hit his face in a cold burst, helping to ease his breathing a little bit. His wobbly legs got him a surprisingly long distance down the battlements before they threatened to collapse beneath him altogether. Slumping against the nearest wall to hold himself upright, Dorian squeezed his eyes shut and tilted his head back against the wall as he tried to calm his racing heart and to catch his breath.

“I’m ok, Riley,” he said, not opening his eyes as measured footsteps echoed on the stonework.

When Riley didn’t reply, Dorian opened his eyes and was immediately knocked down by an unseen force. The air was forced out of his lungs as his entire body fell to the ground, where he laid there in shock for a few seconds. For a moment, he thought he had simply collapsed or fainted, but he didn’t feel right. With shaky arms, Dorian was able to peel his upper body off the ground, though his legs refused to move. He twisted his head around, trying to find out what hit him.

“I saw you with the Herald of Andraste in the library, whispering your poison to her! I should have killed you then and there.” 

An angry voice cut through the fog of disorientation clinging to Dorian’s head. Riley wasn’t there, he realized, his guard wasn’t there, and a delusional person was coming after him. He tried to summon his magic, but to his horror, Dorian found that he was cut off. Not the same kind of disconnection from when he was collared, but instead he was drained of his mana. He had heard of southern Templars having such abilities that they used in hunting mages. 

“We won’t let your kind worm its way through the Inquisition any longer!” his attacker prattled on in her furious rant. “We will do our duty and protect the Herald and Skyhold from your blood magic!”

It dawned on Dorian that the Templars had finally come for him. They were going to collar him and put him in a cell in the dungeon. They believed he was a maleficar in league with the Venatori, and they were going to torture him for information he was already trying to give to the Inquisition.   
_  
No, no, no, no. I can’t do it again. I just can’t. No no no no no no—  
_  
Despair nearly consumed Dorian, until he felt it. The faintest stirrings of the Fade on the edge of his mind as his mana began to slowly regenerate. Whatever mana draining attack the Templar hit him with, it wasn’t strong enough for a fully ranked Enchanter. He grasped onto that feeling, clung onto the Fade with all the he had to force his mana to build up faster. It would be enough for a spell, maybe two.

Dorian managed to rise to his feet, his legs were unsteady under him, but he kept his balance and stood tall. He wasn’t surprised to find himself facing his former Templar guard, standing rigid in her armor and hand on her half-drawn sword. Her eyes went wide, and the color drained from her face, obviously not expecting him to get back up. The flash of fear over her youthful features immediately hardened into grim determination.

Looking around the battlements, Dorian was both concerned that Riley wasn’t there and hopeful that his guard ran to get Bull. But then Dorian noticed the red smear of fresh blood on the Templar’s gauntlet and the hilt of her sword. His heart sank in grief at the same time fury surged through his veins and Dorian pulled on the Fade again, _hard._

He knew no one was likely to believe him if he attacked a Templar and he worried that Bull would get into trouble. Despite that, Dorian pulled up a barrier around himself and managed to gather enough mana to ready a Horror spell as a purple glow emitted from his clenched fist. 

Dorian didn’t go quietly when his parents had him abducted nor when the Venatori ambushed him and he wasn’t about to start now.


	17. Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian stands up for himself. There are consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone had a lovely holiday season! I didn't mean for a whole month to go by to post this chapter, hopefully the next one won't take so long.

Despite Dorian’s fear, his anger, there was a certain joy that hummed through his body as he used his magic. Beyond a few minor spells to light fires and heat water, Dorian hadn’t summoned his full strength since the Venatori caught him at his campsite and he tried to take as many of them as he could during what he was sure would be his last fight. And after his rescue by the Iron Bull, Dorian was cautious in using his magic around Skyhold, all too aware of the Templar presence.

But now he felt powerful and strong in a way that was long denied to him. All the aches and pains of his healing wounds were forgotten as his magic sang. Even after the Templar’s attack that drained his mana, Dorian latched onto the Fade and recovered. While southern Templars were stronger than their northern counterparts, his opponent was relatively inexperienced, and Dorian was no meek Circle mage. He didn’t fear his power. He reveled in it.

Several paces away from him, the young Templar didn’t back down. Her eyes were wild in uncertainty, but she kept her stance strong and her sword at the ready. But she didn’t try to strike him, instead she let out a pulse of energy fueled by the lyrium in her veins. Dorian could feel the force of her mana draining attack again, albeit weaker, but his barrier did not falter, and he remained on his feet this time.

The Templar actually took a step back as Dorian stood tall, fully expecting for Dorian to fall again under her attack. The blood drained from her face even as she began to sweat from the exertion of using her abilities. Dorian briefly hoped that she might backdown after seeing that he was not an apprentice, but instead her resolved seemed to strengthen.

“Maleficar!” she snarled. “I will not you stand for a second longer!”

This time, she did move to attack, her weapon poised to strike as she began to close the distance between them, her armor rattling against the stones. Dorian had to act.

The spirits in Skyhold were old and numerous, Dorian could feel them clinging to the stonework and in the very air of the fortress. He longed to summon them to him, to pull on the bits and pieces to bring to life the long-weathered bones buried in the depths of Skyhold however briefly. But he held back and instead he dropped his barrier and redirected his mana so he could whip fire at the feet of the Templar.

Channeling spells through his hands was less than ideal, the flames licked at his unprotected palm as they burst into life from the Fade. His aim was always slightly off without the aid of a staff and focusing crystal. He was trying to strike the ground in front of the Templar, but instead his fire hit the metal of her leg guards. Her movements lost momentum, trying to skid to a stop as Dorian attacked. All the while, her shield was left idle strapped on her back and despite her assumption that Dorian was dangerous, she did not think he would fight back.

Given the violence he witnessed in the Hinterlands, he wondered how many apostates fled with their backs to her before she cut them down without a second thought.

As she stalled at the fire, Dorian let loose his Horror spell. Accuracy was a little less important and he knew immediately that his attack hit its mark by the terror that filled the Templar’s eyes and the sudden scream that tore from her throat. The grip of the Horror spell in combination with the fire sent the Templar reeling and she turned on her heels to flee.

He was scraping at the bottom of his mana again, but Dorian managed to summon just enough to let out a Mind Blast. Spirit magic was released from around him, sweeping away all debris in the area and catching the fleeing Templar in its wave of energy. She was pushed forward in the wave and slammed into the wall in front of her before crumpling to the ground in a clatter of armor. While the force of his Mind Blast could kill a person upon impact, he could feel the weakness in his spell from the lack of mana. He was sure that the Templar survived.

When she didn’t immediately move, Dorian approached the Templar slowly, making sure each footstep was silent as he moved closer. He found her motionless on the ground, with her eyes closed and a large nasty bruise forming on her forehead but breathing just fine. 

He remembered keenly his first days at Skyhold, of her angry presence outside his door. Every sneer and snap from her reminded Dorian of the terribly vulnerable position he was in before Bull took it upon him to put Dorian under his protection. As menacing as she seemed stationed at Dorian’s door and after she had searched his room, Dorian noted how very young she looked.

Her youth though did not protect her from Dorian’s anger at the sight of the blood smeared on her sword’s hilt. He grabbed the weapon and viciously threw it over the battlements, the metal clanging uselessly into the empty courtyard below.

“He had better be alive,” Dorian seethed at the unconscious Templar with a slight waver. “If not, then I am coming back to finish you off. At this rate, I will likely get a cell next to Alexius’s and you’re not worth losing my head over, but for him ...”

She didn’t react to his voice, not a single twitch as she continued to lay on the ground, oblivious to the world. Heat began to burn Dorian’s palms as his mana was building back up, but he knew he could not dither around and waste his time on the Templar. Dorian ran back from where he came from and tried to retrace his steps back to balcony. He didn’t have to go far to find what he was looking for.

Taking a few steps inside the fortress from the battlements and into a dark hallway, Dorian found a prone figure sprawled face first on the floor. A large puddle of tacky blood pooled around the head and matted itself in sand colored hair.

“Oh Maker, no.” 

Dorian sucked in a shuttering breath as he instantly regretted not burning the Templar to ash. He gingerly kneeled at Riley’s side and the blood on the floor was immediately soaked up in his robes. With great care, he turned Riley over and pulled the mercenary into his lap, his body completely limp. Riley’s skin was ashen, his usually animated face was slack, and his nearly white lips were slightly parted, drawing a slow and shallow breath that hardly moved his chest.

“Help is coming.”

Dorian didn’t even startle at the sound of Cole’s quiet voice. He could only watch as the ghost took out an elfroot potion from a pouch on his belt and crouched next to Dorian, pressing the glass to Riley’s unresponsive mouth.

“ _‘Of course I’ll protect Lord Pavus, Chief! Lord Pavus is one of the good ones or else the Venatori wouldn’t have hurt him like they did. You can count on me, I’ll make sure nothing happens to him,’_ ” Cole’s voice mimicked the eagerness of Riley’s often rushed words. “He wanted to protect you. To be a hero.”

Closing his eyes to hold back the stinging tears, Dorian just nodded as his arms tightened around Riley. The mercenary breathed a little easier once the potion slid down his throat, but not nearly strong enough for comfort. Dorian could feel the spirits in Skyhold’s walls even more keenly as his mana returned and his connection to the Fade strengthened, and as curiosity drew the spirits to the scene.

_You can’t have his body. He’s still alive._

“They don’t want him,” Cole mused aloud, his eyes roaming the empty air. “You pulled on the Fade when you shouldn’t have been able to, latched on, wrapping it around you tight. They wanted to see why you were so angry.” 

Cole’s words rang emptily as Dorian sat there on the cold floor, covered in blood, and warding foreign spirits away while trying to keep one tethered to its body.

He hardly noticed that anyone else had arrived until familiar hands cupped his face. Blinking open his watery eyes, Dorian found Bull kneeling in front of him and his face creased into a sorrowful frown.

“We’ve got him,” Bull said softly, “just let him go, sweetheart.”

Dorian shook his head, irrationally afraid that Riley would slip away if he let go of the young mercenary. “I can’t.”

“He’ll be ok, but Stitches needs to look at him,” Bull cajoled gently, one hand moving down to cover Dorian’s, where it was fisted tightly in the fabric of Riley’s shirt. “Let me have him.” 

It took a couple more careful urges before Dorian loosened his grip on the other man and he let Bull scoop up Riley’s pale, ragdoll body into his arms. Bull rose and told Dorian to stay put before turning away and moving towards the people crowding the hallway. Without the dead weight resting against Dorian, he became aware of the wetness of the blood heavy on his clothing, the numbness of his legs from kneeling, and the damp cold of the fortress sinking deep into his soul.

“Hey,” a male, redhaired dwarf said gently, his hand touched Dorian’s shoulder. He seemed to come from nowhere and was just at Dorian’s side, standing over him as if keeping watch. His auburn hair was pulled back in a ponytail and far too many buttons on his shirt were left undone, but sympathy was clear in his eyes and his expression held a certain kindness that was rarely directed at Dorian.

“The kid will be ok,” the dwarf told him. “All of Bull’s guys are a lot tougher than they look.”

Dorian nodded in agreement. Riley, for all his youth, naivete, and excitement, was a strong man. Dorian hoped that strength would carry him through.

He finally looked around him, slowly realizing that the narrow space of the hallway was filled with people, many who Dorian didn’t recognize. There was a man with beautiful blond hair and amber eyes, a woman with dark hair and striking, though scowling, features, and several soldiers, none thankfully were Templars. Somewhere in the crowd, he could hear Stitches’s voice, barking orders and demanding supplies. And Cole, the ghost, was gone.

“Are you doing ok?” the dwarf asked, catching Dorian’s attention again.

Dorian let out a long breath through his nose and simply stated, “He was attacked by a Templar who wanted me. So, no. I’m not ok.”

The dwarf let out deep sigh as he muttered, “Maker’s breath. It’s always Templars.”

Bull returned and kneeled again next to Dorian, his long arm wrapped around Dorian’s shoulders and pulled him close. “Tell me what happened, sweetheart.”

“Did you tell Tiny what you told me?” the dwarf asked Dorian, jerking his head towards Bull. He let out a weary chuckle when Dorian shook his head and then shot Bull a crooked smile. “Remember to leave Curly in one piece, Tiny,” the dwarf said in wary jest, “the Inquisition still needs him.”

Bull just raised an eyebrow at the dwarf and waited for Dorian, who recounted what had happened. The entire time, Bull remained patient and his expression soft with concern. There was no questioning about whether Dorian provoked the Templar, no accusations for going to the trial, and no outbursts over getting Riley hurt.

After he finished, Bull left Dorian briefly again with the dwarf before returning to escort Dorian away.

Dorian was pleasantly surprised that Bull brought him back to their room. He fully expected to be arrested for attacking a Templar, but he appreciated that he was given the chance to change out of his soiled clothes. Stripping out of the ruined robes the moment the door closed behind them, Dorian found that Riley’s blood had seeped all the way through and was drying in sticky patches on his skin.

He had just filled a wash basin and dunked a cloth in it to scrub away the blood when Bull said, “I’ll get Grim to bring you something to eat, it’ll be here by the time you’re finished.”

Dorian paused and looked over at Bull with a raised eyebrow. He hated admitting that his time with the Iron Bull and the creature comforts he had access to was now unbearably short. He knew full well that he faced severe consequences for attacking the Templar, that no one would believe the story he told Bull, and this time he would go if only to spare Bull any further trouble. He just hoped that his time in the dungeon would be short with his two final cards up his sleeve.

Krem’s promise and the note from his future self, _Sera can get you out of Skyhold._

“Do I have time for that? I suspect that someone will come for me soon.”

“I say you do,” Bull grunted, “and anyone knocking on the door can go fuck themselves until you’re ready.”

Nodding, Dorian agreed, not knowing what food for those occupying a cell would be like. “Ok, yes, that does sound good. A scone or two and some tea is fine.”

“You’re eating a real meal,” Bull countered in a tone that left no room for arguments. He then poked his head out of the door to call for Grim and ask for an early lunch.

Someone came to the door as Dorian was still standing at the washbasin and stripped of most of his clothes. He flinched hard at the sound, the cloth in his hand slipping from his fingers and dropping noisily into the hot, soapy water. 

Before even opening the door, Bull gave Dorian sympathetic look and reassured, “It’s just Krem.”

From his spot Dorian didn’t see the lieutenant as Krem didn’t step inside and Bull didn’t move a toe out of the room, but he could hear Krem’s familiar Tevinter accented voice. The pair lingered in the doorway and their voices were hushed as Dorian tried to wash silently, his ears straining over the distance and the crackle of the fire in the hearth. But they were speaking too quickly and too quietly for Dorian catch more than a few words and names. _Knives. Templar. Cullen. Trial._ Then Krem apparently left as Bull closed and locked the door, and Dorian was not so concerned about being quiet.

By the time Dorian changed into a clean set of robes, Grim came by with lunch, his grunt signaling his arrival from behind the door and the plate carefully left on the ground was only other indication that he had been there. While earlier Dorian’s appetite was rather faint, he found that he was ravenous as he sat down at the table with food in front of him. In between bites of stewed meat and bread, Dorian pressed Bull for information, certain that Krem had updated his chief on Riley’s condition.

“Knives hasn’t woken up yet, Stitches isn’t expecting him to regain consciousness tonight,” Bull told him, sounding both tired and patient as he took the chair next to Dorian. “That Templar hit him pretty hard and he lost a lot of blood. Stitches is unsure if he’ll pull through but said that Knives has a good chance if he makes it through the night.”

Dorian’s throat tightened as Bull’s hand covered his own and he silently nodded. He braced himself for the worst and while the news that Riley was still alive gave him hope, Dorian’s heart sank at the news. Still, he was thankful that Bull didn’t pass the blame onto him, that he remained as gentle and kind as ever. For all the chaos that happened, Bull brought a calm that Dorian didn’t expect as he waited for the Inquisition to haul him away.

“Riley has a sister, correct?” Dorian asked, trying to recall personal details Riley would sometimes rattle off. “I would like to write to her and update her on his condition, once we know for sure.”

“Knives would like that,” Bull smiled gently. “His sister is in Denerim with their mom.”

“And what of Alexius?” Dorian just barely remembered to ask, feeling ashamed for forgetting about Alexius. The trial, which had consumed Dorian’s thoughts for multiple weeks, started only an hour or so earlier, but now it felt like it happened days ago.

“Imprisonment,” Bull answered, not sounding entirely enthused, “and I guess he’s going to be pressed into doing some research for the Inquisition.”

“Research?” The lingering worry over Alexius’s nearly assured execution dissipated and he was relieved that he wouldn’t be seeing his former mentor hauled off to be beheaded. “Alexius was always happiest when researching.”

Bull frowned and snorted, “As if I care how happy he is.” But he gave Dorian a little smile and squeezed his hand, “Finish up your lunch, you’ll need your strength.”

Dorian didn’t doubt it.

Once Dorian cleaned his plate to Bull’s satisfaction, Bull sat down on the bed, leaning against the headboard and held his arm out to Dorian. “Come here, sweetheart,” Bull beckoned, “I bet we’ve got some time before anyone wants to talk to you.”

Unable to resist, Dorian crossed the room and crawled over the bed to let himself be pulled to Bull’s side. Tucked under Bull’s arm, Dorian pressed his face to the bare skin of Bull’s chest and listened to his heartbeat and waited for what would come next. In the silence, he revisited in his mind being attacked by the Templar, continued to grieve over Riley’s injuries, and actively worried about what was to come. But most of all, he thought about how much he would miss the Iron Bull. Even if he wormed his way out of the dungeons, he knew he wouldn’t be returning to Bull. 

Dorian should have insisted Bull go to Riley’s side and stand vigil over the mercenary, but Dorian was selfish and wanted to have his final moments with him. Closing his eyes, Dorian leaned in closer, as if trying to disappear into Bull’s embrace. 

_I love you._

A calloused thumb wiped away a little bit of moisture gathering at the corner of his eye and Bull’s voice rumbled through his chest as he murmured, “Kadan.” 

Dorian wondered idly at the unfamiliar word, but he didn’t get a chance to obsess over it as a sharp knock cracked against the door.

It was Ambassador Montilyet who came for Dorian, accompanied by a gorgeous Fereldan in fur and armor introduced as Commander Cullen Rutherford, who Dorian had seen earlier in the hallway. Dorian was not surprised to see them, but he was surprised when they started tripping over themselves to apologize after he told them what happened.

He sat in one of the armchairs by the fire in stunned silence with Bull standing at his side, his large hand heavy on Dorian’s shoulder. The Ambassador had taken the seat across from him, listening to Dorian intently until she started apologizing, when she rose from her chair as the words flowed from her lips.

“I am beyond mortified, Lord Pavus, I cannot apologize to you enough,” Lady Montilyet lamented for possibly the hundredth time, anxiously moving around the room as her usual calm crumbled. In her agitation though the sincerity in her worry and distress for Dorian was prominent. “We promised to provide you with protection and instead you and the young man, Riley, were placed in grave danger within Skyhold’s very walls. This should have never happened. Not to one of our guests and not at the hands of a Templar.”

“We have apprehended the woman who attacked you,” Commander Cullen provided, managing to stay still but his eyes kept darting from Dorian’s face over to Bull’s. “Be assured that she will face justice and she will no longer be in a position to harm you again; I will see to it personally. This lapse in security is unforgiveable, Lord Pavus, and I take full responsibility for it.”

Dorian opened his mouth, not quite sure what he was going to say. He was overwhelmingly relieved that he wasn’t being escorted to the dungeon or collared, that he had ingratiated himself enough to provide protection. His information, research, and connections seemed to have saved him this time around. But Dorian couldn’t quite bring himself to accept their apologies, not while Riley was so grievously injured. Fortunately, Bull had a few choice words.

“I told you to keep the Templars away from him, I told you they were a problem,” Bull snapped at the Commander, his fury unrestrained as his voice rose, echoing off the high ceiling in the room. “You didn’t check them and now look what happened! Dorian was attacked and one of my guys is fighting for his fucking life!”

“I know, Bull.” The Commander’s face was pinched as if he was in the grips of an oncoming headache. “It’s no excuse, but I didn’t realize what a threat she posed to Lord Pavus. I only found out just a short while ago from Barris that earlier she actually broke into and searched Lord Pavus’s room.”

“ _What_?”

Dorian managed to hide his wince. He clearly remembered throwing that accusation at Ser Barris, but he never actually informed Bull about his suspicions. Bull’s hand withdrew from Dorian’s shoulder, causing him to look up at Bull. Even at the odd angle, Dorian could see Bull’s jaw working despite the tight line his mouth was pressed into and his arms flexed as his hands balled into tight fists, his knuckles white.

Bull opened his mouth to say something, but it snapped close as Dorian quietly said his name, the whisper effectively cutting off whatever abuses Bull had on the tip of his tongue. Their eyes met for a second, anger evident in Bull’s clear blue eye and Dorian could feel weariness pulling on his own express. Then Bull let out a long and draining breath through his lips before his hand returned to Dorian’s shoulder, his fingers tightening in a gentle grip, and he looked away to glare at Commander Cullen.

“We will be speaking later, Cullen,” Bull growled out. 

The Commander let out a resigned sigh but nodded expectantly. “Right.”

“Lord Pavus,” Lady Montilyet addressed Dorian, “I will do everything I can to make you comfortable, but I cannot blame you if you no longer feel safe at Skyhold.”

“Am I to expect retaliation from the Templars?” Dorian asked plainly. 

“No,” Commander Cullen swiftly answered for the Ambassador as she looked to him. “Knight-Templar Barris and I will make sure of it.”

“Thank you, Commander, I will take you at your word,” Dorian replied diplomatically and turned back to the Ambassador. “I am now perfectly satisfied with my safety, Ambassador.”

He didn’t want to give her the impression that he had any desire to leave Skyhold and provide her with an excuse to write to his family. 

“Speak for yourself,” Bull muttered under his breath.

“Very good, Lord Pavus,” the Ambassador ignored Bull. “I will do everything I can to ensure that we do not let you down.”

Lady Montilyet and Commander Cullen left shortly afterwards, seemingly content to believe Dorian’s story. The mixture of dread and anticipation was gone from Dorian’s body, leaving behind an awful hollowness in his chest. Without the adrenaline of a fight or the anxiety of being taken away, it was as if there was nothing to prop him up, nothing to hold back the grief and pain that threatened to overwhelm him. He won against the Templar and no blame was being laid at his feet, but his triumph was sour, and he worried about its cost.

Just beyond the room, there was an empty chair and a copy of _Swords & Shields_ left forgotten.

Before he knew it, Dorian was wrapped securely in Bull’s arms, his wet face buried in grey skin as he felt as well as heard Bull croon, “Hey, you’re safe now, sweetheart, and Stitches is watching over Knives. It’ll be ok, kadan.”

Dorian really wished that for once it would be.


	18. Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian makes a new friend. He and Bull also come to a new understanding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone is well! This was supposed to be the second half of chapter 17, but I can never write concisely... Thanks as always for reading!

The color in Riley’s complexion had improved and his breathing was slow, but comfortable. There was warmth in his hand when Dorian gently took it in his own, feeling like a living body rather than the cool, deadweight that he had clung to just the day before. 

Riley was recovering in the small private room that Cremisius kept attached to the Chargers’ barracks. Bull had declined the Inquisition surgeon’s offer to take Riley to the infirmary, apparently trusting Stitches above the surgeon. Riley’s thin figure was laid out on a narrow bed that was pushed against the wall and under a cracked open window, letting in fresh air. It almost looked like Riley was just taking a nap, except for the clean, white bandages wrapped snuggly around his head and nearly covering sand colored hair.

Dorian gave Stitches a watery smile and Bull gave his company healer a hearty slap on the back. The whites of Stitches’s eyes were red and deep circles sat underneath them, but he was looking rather pleased with himself.

“Knives woke up briefly last night, he wasn’t very coherent, but I think he was asking if Lord Dorian was safe. He calmed down after I told him that everyone was ok,” Stitches updated them. “He’s vitals are stronger today and I believe he’ll be on his feet and pestering you again before you know it, Chief.”

“Dalish and I are going to watch him while Stitches gets some sleep,” Cremisius said.

“I have a cot right outside the door,” Stitches added.

“Go get some rest, Stitches, you deserve it. You did good work saving Knives,” Bull told his healer, giving him another audible thump on his back. “You better not get up unless there’s a real emergency.”

Stitches gave his chief a weak smile. “I won’t argue with that.”

After Stitches left, Cremisius looked at Bull and jerked his head towards the door. “Lord Dorian, could you watch Knives for a couple minutes? I want to the talk to the Chief real quick.”

Bull hesitated, his eye darted to Dorian and Dorian realized that in the last twenty-four hours, he had not left Bull’s sight. Dorian rolled his eyes and urged, “I’ll be fine on my own.”

“We won’t be leaving the barracks, Chief,” Cremisius sighed when Bull still didn’t give an answer.

“Fine,” Bull huffed in annoyance and sounding rather put out. “But we’ll be within a few feet of the door, so shout if anything happens.”

Dorian suppressed the urge to roll his eyes again as Bull slowly followed his second out of the room. Alone with Riley, Dorian sat down in the chair next to the bed and gave his guard a weary grin as he said, “Now I see where you get your overprotective tendencies and I admit I am not the easiest charge. The guards my father posted at my door could have told you that.”

He fell silent, listening to the young mercenary’s slow, even breaths. If Dorian wasn’t working, Riley often filled the space between them with chatter about the Inquisition and the Herald, being part of the Chargers, and about himself. The guard put Dorian in the rare position of not needing to speak and he usually let the torrent of words wash over him as background noise. Dorian missed it more than he expected.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you with stubble,” Dorian said to the young man, spotting an uneven and light shadow of prickly hair on Riley’s chin and cheeks. “Tomorrow, I will come with my shaving kit and give you a shave. You needn’t worry, my hands are quite steady now and I am an experienced barber. I would help my friend, Felix, with shaving when he was too sick to sit up. I only nicked him once and it was his fault, he made me laugh. So, if you do not want to get a cut, don’t make me laugh.”

Dorian stopped talking as he realized that he and Riley were no longer alone. He was more surprised than alarmed to find the auburn-haired dwarf he met the day before coming into the room, closing the door behind him. Under one arm was a book and the dwarf stopped to hold up his other hand in peace.

“Tiny said it’d be ok if I dropped by to see how you and the kid are doing. I heard that Knives is doing ok, hoped he might’ve been awake,” the dwarf explained. “I also heard you were a fan.” He held out the book to Dorian in an offering.

Unsure of what the dwarf was talking about, he took the book and while he had never read it before, he immediately knew it was from the _Swords & Shields_ series. He frowned at it, he thought he had read all of them and was less enthused that he had another Tethras book to read.

“The name is Varric and I believe we have a mutual friend,” the dwarf grinned.

Dorian’s heart skipped a beat and finally Maevaris’s book suggestion made sense, she was not just trying to torture him. A dwarf with the same name as the author and giving him another _Swords & Shields_ book could only mean one thing.

“You know Maevaris.”

“You could say she’s family,” Varric’s grin widened and Dorian knew that the dwarf must’ve been a relative of Maevaris’s dwarven late husband. Varric leaned against the wall, crossing his arms, and planting one foot on the wall, leaving his knee bent. “Mae asked me to keep an eye on you, but it looked like Tiny had you pretty well covered until yesterday.”

“That wasn’t his fault,” Dorian quickly defended Bull, not wanting the dwarf or Maevaris to think that Bull was neglectful towards him. “Bull takes good care of me.”

“I know, I know,” Varric replied lightly, “but I just had to hear it from you. I can’t write to Mae about her friend getting attacked without talking to you first.”

“You could leave that whole part out,” he suggested. “I am sure the Ambassador is currently writing a letter prostrating herself to Maevaris over the incident.”

Varric let out a snort. “All the more reason to let Mae know that you’re ok. She’ll never fully believe Ruffles, but she will trust me. And if I don’t write to her about it, she’ll accuse me of not looking out for you.”

“Right,” Dorian replied with wariness. “Well, you lay the blame directly upon the Templars. I went to the trial without Bull knowing, so he wasn’t around, and Riley was hurt trying to protect me.”

“Glad that I won’t be putting Tiny on Mae’s hit list,” Varric chuckled. “I know that I’m long overdue for making contact with you, but I’m often on the road for the Inquisition and it looks like you’re well taken care of by Tiny. I just want you to know that we’re not all crazy Templars hunting mages. You’ve got other friends here.”

“Friends of friends, at least.”

“Hey, anyone who’s a friend of Mae’s is a friend of mine,” Varric corrected. “Anyway, do you have something you want to say to Mae? Something that Leliana isn’t going to read?”

Dorian thought about it for a moment before shaking his head. “No, not right now.”

Varric nodded. “Let me know if that changes.”

Not long afterwards, Bull came back in and Varric excused himself, giving Dorian a smirk before heading out. They didn’t stay much longer themselves, leaving Cremisius and an elf to watch Riley.

The rest of the day stretched on at an agonizingly slow pace. Despite the whirlwind of activity of the previous day, Dorian found himself too distracted to be productive or to amuse himself. He tried to write to Riley’s family to update them on his condition, but he could hardly write more than a couple sentences. Research was out of the question, the books he needed were in the library and Bull was not eager to have Dorian moving about Skyhold right away. The Ambassador stopped by briefly to apologize again, but Dorian was immediately tired out by her visit.

The only bit of excitement was before dinnertime when Dorian decided to take a bath. Wrapped snuggly in a dressing gown, Dorian started a simple spell to summon water to fill the copper tub. His concentration faltered and the spell unraveled as Dorian found that the tub was not as empty as he believed it to be.

“ _Vishante kaffas_!” Dorian swore loudly, jumping back from the tub as his heart leapt into his throat.

There was a rather large battleax in Bull’s hands in a short amount of time and his long strides and surprising agility had him between Dorian and the offending tub within mere seconds. The ax was raised, but Bull was thankfully slow to use it as Sera sat up, rubbing at her bleary eyes.

“Wha?” she grumbled with a loud yawn. “Why’re you shouting?”

“For fuck’s sake, Sera!” Bull’s voice boomed angrily, lowering his pink bladed ax to the ground. “What are you doing in there?”

Sera frowned at him. “Taking a nap,” she said as if it were obvious and then pointed to Dorian, who was peeking out from behind Bull, “also, gotta keep an eye on that one. Someone attacked my vint.”

“He’s _my_ vint,” Bull muttered, turning his back to Sera to stow his weapon away.

Dorian beamed at Sera’s presence, instantly caught up in her inane chatter, and soothed by her company. He was so pleased by her appearance that he was only a little disgusted as she ate most of his dinner when it arrived, plucking the food from his plate with her bare fingers and liberally licking them. Bull merely glared at her as he piled more meat onto Dorian’s plate and growled to keep Sera at bay.

“I’ll catch up with you when that one isn’t in a mood,” Sera told Dorian after she ate his dessert, wiping golden crumbs from her mouth with the back of her hand. Dessert had been a lovely looking custard and fruit tart that she ate in three whole bites.

“I almost took your head off!” Bull snapped, also likely peevish because he gave up his dessert to Dorian, of which Sera ate over half.

Sera shrugged and she gave Dorian a big toothy grin. “I’ve got to update you on Inky, but later, yeah?”

She vaulted herself out of one of the windows before Dorian could ask her who she was talking about. He threw Bull a look and asked for clarification, “Who’s Inky?”

Bull’s scowl softened and he chuckled, “I’ll let her tell you, I’m not going to spoil her fun.”

By the time Sera left, the sun had disappeared behind the horizon and darkness swept the room, but it was still too early for bed and Dorian did his best to occupy his time. Dorian sat in the armchair, warm by the fire with the latest copy of _Swords & Shields_ that Varric gave him in his lap. His wet, clean hair was drying in curls and he was wrapped in a thin underrobe. His book was open to the same page he was on ten minutes earlier, his eyes glued to the same sentence. 

Dorian let out a silent sigh and turned back to the previous page. He couldn’t remember who framed the Knight-Captain and he wondered how Varric felt about sharing the name of a mediocre author.

Elsewhere in the room, he could hear Bull puttering about. There was clink of dishes from their meal as he cleared them from the table, placing them into a neat pile as a courtesy for the maid. After the tidying, Dorian listened as Bull’s measured footsteps walked the parameter of the room, stopping at each door and window, and pushing and pulling until satisfied they were secured.

There was a soft shuffle and grunt at the door to the tavern attic, causing Dorian to whip his head up from the book.

“It’s Grim,” Bull confirmed, making short work of crossing the floor with his long strides. He stood at the doorway to greet one of his men, not moving a step out of the room.

Dorian held his breath and listened, but all he heard was Grim’s affirmative sounding grunt.

“Thanks for the update,” Bull told Grim and bid him goodnight before turning back to Dorian. “He said Knives is still doing ok.”

“Good,” Dorian nodded absently. “Perhaps he’ll be awake tomorrow?” 

“Maybe. We’ll go see him in the morning again.”

“I’d like that.” Closing his book and not even bothering to tuck a bookmark between the pages, Dorian carelessly tossed it onto the side table and rose. “Even as early as it is, I’m going to turn in. It’s been that sort of day. Well, couple of days.”

“Wait a sec. I want to talk first.”

Dorian wordlessly sank back down into the armchair as Bull grabbed another chair and brought it over in front of Dorian, the wood dragging along the floor. Bull sat down, letting out a tired grumble before leaning forward to lay his hand over Dorian’s knee.

“The last couple of days were a lot,” Bull said in a wild understatement. “I know none of it was easy for you.”

Dorian let out an exhausted chuckle. Wiping at his face, he laid his other hand on top of Bull’s with a half-smile, “No, it really wasn’t.”

Bull swallowed and his voice came out thick, barely holding back the guilt that was clear in his eye. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there to protect you and Knives.”

“Oh, Bull—”

Shaking his head sharply, Bull interrupted, “None this should have happened. I told you that you were safe, but I didn’t do a damn thing to protect you when you needed it most. I hate to think of how you must have felt to be attacked again like that.”

“You think I am troubled by fighting that Templar?” Dorian asked, his eyes widening as a surprised laugh escaped from him, making Bull lift an eyebrow at him. “That little scuffle has been the least of my concerns and trust me when I say that the fight would have been shorter if she had not gotten me by surprise. I am actually relieved that she attacked me, and honestly, it felt good to fight her.” With a little flair, Dorian added smugly, “I am a very good battlemage.”

The frown lines on Bull’s face eased away and a little grin pulled on his lips. “I wish I could’ve seen it.”

“You’d be begging me to join your little mercenary group,” Dorian preened at his abilities and also wished that Bull could have seen him. “But I do regret that Riley got in the middle of it,” Dorian reflected softly, the pride he briefly felt slipping away. “I am sorry that I put him in such danger.”

“You didn’t,” Bull replied firmly, “that Templar did.”

Dorian tried to smile in reassurance, but the corners of his mouth wouldn’t budge. “I know, but …” He just shook his head and changed topics. “I admit that I am still in shock that the Ambassador and Commander believed me, and I am not currently locked up with Alexius. We would be terrible cellmates. The whole sending the Venatori after me and trying to kill the Herald has put a small wrinkle in our relationship.”

Bull pulled back a little, his back straightening as his brow furrowed. “You think you would’ve been sent the dungeon?”

“This whole fortress is crawling with Templars, Bull, how could I expect to be believed? Why shouldn’t I have feared being arrested for assaulting a Templar?” Dorian’s voice pitched sharply, feeling a mixture of exasperation and confusion at Bull’s question. “I should count myself fortunate that I have made myself valuable enough not to be locked away.”

Bull’s frowned again, his eye fixed on Dorian’s face in an evaluating stared. “You mean the information you pass onto me,” he said slowly.

“That, yes,” Dorian nodded in agreement, “and my research for Sister Leliana and the assistance that Maevaris provides Ambassador Montilyet. If I didn’t have any of that to protect me, I doubt I would be here right now.”

“You don’t need to do any of that to be believed. The Inquisition partnered with the Templars, but no one was surprised that a crazy Templar attacked an innocent mage,” Bull protested. “Even if Cullen ordered your arrest, there is no way he could take you. Not with me around.”

Bull made his declaration with such conviction that Dorian instantly believed that Bull would have tried to prevent his arrest and removal to the dungeon. For a mercenary captain and bodyguard, Bull seemed to pull some weight around the Inquisition or was at least useful enough to be paid attention to. Dorian didn’t doubt that Bull would have stood between him and the commander of the Inquisition’s army. He just wasn’t sure if it would have worked.

“I am sure you wouldn’t have allowed it to happen,” Dorian placated Bull fondly, “but beyond your good word and muscle, why wouldn’t I need to ingratiate myself to the Inquisition? I am a Tevinter mage after all.”

“Who we saved from Venatori assholes,” Bull said as if Dorian needed a reminder.

Letting out a long sigh, Dorian countered, “Bull, you may believe that I am of no danger to the Inquisition, but that Templar was at my door when I first woke up here. For a moment I thought you had taken me to one of those dismal mage prisons! Then Sister Leliana interrogated me when I could barely sit up on my own and I am sure she would have had me all day if you had not been there with me. I didn’t have access to pen and paper until I promised the Ambassador that I would write to Maevaris. Maker’s breath, I didn’t even have a pair of shoes!” Dorian let out a little laugh of disbelief. “You had to get them for me, remember?”

“Yeah, I remember,” Bull grunted quietly, his single blue eye was fixed upon Dorian and his grey face heavy with a grimace.

“I didn’t gain access to anything until I could prove that I could provide something to the Inquisition,” Dorian continued, letting the words pour out. “I have been treated with such suspicion that it is a surprise that I didn’t immediately end up in cell.” Dorian then hastily added, “I do not mean to complain too harshly. The Inquisition has proven to have greater hospitality than the Venatori, even if you include the Templars.”

“It’s no excuse,” Bull said grimly, his eye darkening with an unreadable emotion. “You were half dead when you got here, abused by the Venatori, and there was no reason for Cullen to put a Templar at your door or for the Inquisition to withhold anything from you. There was a lot of mistrust about mages here, especially after Haven, it made everyone act irrationally towards you.”

“Yes, well, you’ve made it all bearable and I am grateful to have you,” Dorian managed a small smile. 

“You deserve to be treated well. You don’t have to do anything to earn it.” Then, with a hesitancy and uncertainty Dorian had never heard in him, Bull started to ask, “Are you sleeping with me because—"

“Because I want to,” Dorian swiftly interrupted him, not sure if he could handle hearing Bull finish that question. “And because I care about you, deeply,” Dorian’s face began to flush at the admission, though it came just short of the truth, “and I know that you care for me as well. But Bull, would you be here with me if I wasn’t giving you information about the Venatori?”

“Yes.”

The answer came strong and without hesitation, catching Dorian off guard with its frankness. Bull was so transparent with Dorian, that he had expected Bull to tell Dorian that he was using him for the information, but to soften it with claims of more intimate feelings. He didn’t expect for Bull to deny using him.

“Yes,” Bull repeated, “I would be here at your side. I don’t give a shit about what you can tell me about the Venatori.”

Dorian hesitated, wanting to believe Bull’s sweet words, but a bit of knowledge held him back. “I know you’re a spy or at least used to be. You know the value of information.”

Bull gave him a small and almost sheepish smile, appearing as if he was caught eating the last cookie as opposed to being accused of being a spy. He rolled his massive shoulders as he replied, “Should’ve known you’d find out on your own. It’s not like I was keeping it a secret from most people you know around here, but you should’ve found out from me.” His shoulders slumped and he shook his head. “I didn’t think you’d trust me if you knew and now, I don’t blame me if you don’t trust me at all.” 

The trace of mirth on Bull’s face fell away and he closed his eye with a deep breath. His large body was rigid and still, like he was bracing himself. 

“By the time I found out, I knew you wouldn’t harm me,” Dorian replied, both his hands clasping Bull’s in a tight and reassuring grip. “It hasn’t changed my opinion of you.”

Bull opened his eye, his muscles relaxing as he began to explain, “When you refused to speak me after we rescued you, I knew you thought I was with the Qun. And as a Tevinter mage, why wouldn’t you? If we found you a month earlier, you would’ve been right too, I was a Qunari spy shortly before the Chargers rescued you.”

The timing was a shock to Dorian. Admittedly, Dorian didn’t know many real Qunari, the ones he had met were usually trying to kill him, but he would have thought Bull had walked away from the Qun long ago. Bull’s fluent grasp on Common, his relaxed manners and dress, and his open affection did not line up with Dorian’s picture of a member of the Qun. Countless questions ran through Dorian’s mind. Instead, he had to bite his tongue and forced himself to listen.

“The boss knew, so did her inner circle, Leliana, Josephine, Cullen, even Sera. Krem’s known for a long time too, so do most of the guys who’ve stuck with the Chargers. I was here to observe the Inquisition, to help close the Breach and stop the Venatori, not to convert or anything like that.” Bull paused for several long seconds before saying, “But I chose my men over the Qun, the boss reminded me how important they are. I can’t tell you how much it means to me that you saved them.”

There was such a softness and warmth in Bull’s gaze that Dorian almost felt uncomfortable by it. Not because those feelings were unwelcomed to him, but because he did nothing to earn them. There was some other Dorian, both guilty and selfless, who sent Cremisius back through time and saved the Chargers.

Dorian shifted in his chair. “Another version of myself, whom I am grateful will not exist. Becoming a hermit in the desert does not sound like a lifestyle I would like to embrace.”

“I’m grateful too,” Bull smiled. With a chuckle, Bull added, “I suppose this is all to say that you’re right, I used to be a spy and I do know the value of information. But I don’t want that from you, I don’t need it. I know that it hurts you to remember.”

Dorian’s throat felt dry and it didn’t feel any better as he tried to swallow. “It helps the Inquisition,” he replied weakly.

“That’s not for you to worry about, sweetheart,” Bull insisted.

“I came to the south to join the Inquisition and this is the one of the few ways I can help.” An old bitterness rose within Dorian, prompting him to add, “If I am not allowed to go out and raze the Venatori to the ground, then I’ll bury them with what I know.”

“I know,” Bull acknowledged with a reluctant sigh. “What you know about the Venatori is good information, it’s just … I don’t want you forcing yourself to remember the shit that happened to you just because you think you need to or even if you want to. At first, I thought you were just having random flashbacks, but now I know you’ve been trying to force it, at least some of the time.”

Dorian didn’t respond and didn’t ask how Bull knew, afraid that if he spoke that Bull would see through him the way the ghost did.

With his eye downcast and in a quiet voice, Bull admitted, “Leliana did tell me to get close to you.” 

Dorian’s heart immediately lurched even though he expected to hear such a thing. Hearing it was more painful than he could’ve imagined, and his eyes began to water despite a strong conviction to stay stoic.

“She wanted me to collect information from you, to see what I could do to jog your memory, but I told her I wasn’t going to spy on you. I wanted to be close to you for myself, not for the Inquisition. First it was because I wanted to make sure you were recovering and then because I couldn’t stop myself from seeing you …” 

Bull trailed off and took a long and deep breath, his chest expanding slowly before he deflated on the exhale. He hunched down his seat with his shoulders and his spine curled forward, making Bull look oddly small.

“When you started telling me things about the Venatori, I went to the boss directly with your information, I didn’t go to Leliana,” Bull told him. “I’ve pissed Red off because of it. But it doesn’t matter, I don’t care about what she thinks or wants. I only care about you getting better and staying safe. I only really care about you.”

The only thing Dorian could think to say was, “Why?”

Bull gave him a thoughtful look before answering, “After I left the Qun, I was afraid of going mad. That’s what’s supposed to happen when you leave the Qun. I know that if that happened, I could kill a lot of people before anyone could take me down.” Bull took a long breath and continued, “You know that I’m strong and most people come to me because they want someone roughed up or they want me to throw them around or pin them down because that’s what they’re into. That’s easy, I can do that. But it’s easy to lose control and to slip into madness if I’m just a beast or a weapon.” 

Bull leaned back and pulled away from Dorian, his gaze dropping down to his hands. He flexed his fingers, the ones he had left, and curled them into tight fists, his grey skin tightening at the knuckles, before letting them relax again in his lap.

“Then I found you and you needed me to be good and gentle to you, and I wanted to be what you needed. I was surprised how easy it was too, how naturally being sweet to you came to me. Being with you made me realize that I wouldn’t go mad, because I could be careful and soft with you and because I knew I could never bring myself to hurt you.” Bull swallowed and his single eye blinked rapidly. “I guess I was using you in a way, just not in the way you were thinking of.”

All of this sounded familiar to Dorian and it quickly dawned on him that he heard all of this from the ghost, Cole. He recalled being confused by the words spilling out from the odd ghost, but now they were put into context. Dorian realized that he had been given a peek into Bull’s deepest fears without even knowing it and now Bull was pouring his heart out to him.

“You made me a better man, kadan.”

The Tevinter in Dorian whispered that it wasn’t true, that most good things were not meant for him and that he was made to hurt. But he remembered the note he wrote to himself. Of all the information his future self could have chosen to pass onto him, he chose to tell Dorian to trust Bull, to keep him close. 

There was some version of himself who didn’t have that information, who didn’t trust Bull, and left Skyhold believing it was all a ruse. A version of himself who, as Cremisius described him, lived in the desert as a sort of penance and was quietly proven wrong when Bull repeatedly showed up, wrote letters, and just wanted to be with him. 

Dorian had the benefit of having that knowledge though, he knew to trust Bull.

The weight of Bull’s words overwhelmed Dorian, even more so as he began to accept them. He was used to loving a man and having to hold him at a distance, knowing that it could never go anywhere or be reciprocated. At that moment, he truly understood why he wrote that note to himself, why he urged himself to trust Bull and keep him close. He was telling himself to love Bull for as long as he could.

His throat was too tight to let him speak. Instead, he reached out and closed the short gap between them, seeking the solid comfort of Bull’s body. They stood there in front of the warmth of the hearth, arms wrapped around each other and it felt like there was nothing between them anymore. No more doubt or distrust, no more wondering or longing. Dorian didn’t know how much he had wanted it until he heard Bull utter a few simple words.

“I love you, kadan.”


End file.
